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COLMAN'S 



DllliflS 3L2BIEA3EY, 



TORTESA THE USURER. 



TORTESA THE USURER. 



A PHaay 



BY N: P. WILLIS. 



NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL COLMAN, 

BROADWAY. 
1839. 



3* 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by 

S . COLMAN. 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the 

Southern District of New- York. 



N k vv - Y o a k : 

Printed by Scatchkrd & Adams, 

No. 38 Gold Street 



PRESENTATION 



To save his country the perpetration of a wrong, 
the Author anticipates the law, by presenting this 
published Play to whomever pleases to perform it for 
his own benefit. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Duke of Florence. 
Count Falcone. 
Tortesa — a usurer. 
Angelo — a young painter. 
Tomaso — his Servant. 

Isabella de Falcone. 

Zippa — a Glover's daughter. 

Other characters — a Counsellor, a page, the Counts 
Secretary, a Tradesman, a Monk, Lords, La- 
dies, Officer, Soldiers, fyc. 



TORTESA THE USURER, 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

[A drawing-room in TortcscCs house. Servant dis- 
covered reading the bill of a tradesman, who is in 
attendance.'] 

servant, {reading.) 

:l Silk hose, doublet of white satin, twelve shirts of 
lawn." He'll not pay it to-day, good mercer ! 

TRADESMAN. 

How, master Gaspar? When I was assured of the 
gold on delivery? If it be a credit account, look you, 
there must be a new bill. The charge is for ready money. 

SERVANT. 

Tut — tut — man, you know not whom you serve. My 
master is as likely to overpay you if you are civil, as to 
keep you a year out of your money if you push him 
when he is cross'd. 



10 TORTESA [ACT I. 

TRADESMAN. 

Why, this is the humor of a spendthrift, not the care- 
ful way of a usurer. 

SERVANT. 

Usurer ! humph. Well, it may be he is — to the rich ! 
But the heart of the Signor Tortesa, let me tell you, is 
like the bird's wing — the dark side is turned upwards. 
To those who look up to him he shows neither spot nor 
stain ! Hark ! I hear his wheels in the court. Step 
to the ante-room — for he has that on his hands to-day 
which may make him impatient. Quick ! Give way ! 
I'll bring you to him if I can find a time. 

tortesa, (speaking without.) 
What ho ! Gaspar ! 

SERVANT. 

Signor ! 

TORTESA. 

My keys ! Bring me my keys ! 

{Enter Tortesa, followed by Count Falcone.'] 
Come in, Count. 

FALCONE. 

You're well lodged. 

TORTESA. 

The Duke waits for you 
To get to horse. So, briefly, there's the deed ! 
You have your lands back, and your daughter's mine — 
So ran the bargain ! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 11 

FALCONE, (Coldly.) 

She's betrothed, Sir, to you ! 

TORTESA. 

Not a half hour since, and you hold the parchment ! 
A free transaction, see you ! — for you're paid, 
And I'm but promised ! 

falcone, (aside.) 

(What a slave is this. 
To give my daughter to ! My daughter ? Psha ! 
I'll think but of my lands, my precious lands /) 
Sir, the Duke sets forth — 

TORTESA. 

Use no ceremony ! 
Yet stay ! A word ! Our nuptials follow quick 
On your return? 

FALCONE. 

That hour, if it so please you ! 

TORTESA. 

And what's the bargain if her humor change ? 

FALCONE. 

The lands are your's again — 'tis understood so. 

TORTESA. 

Yet, still a word ! You leave her with her maids. 
I have a right in her by this betrothal. 
Seal your door up till you come back again ! 
I'd have no foplings tampering with my wife ! 



12 TOETESA [ACT I. 

None of your painted jackdaws from the court, 
Sneering and pitying her ! My lord Falcone ! 
Shall she be private ? 

falcone, (aside.) 

(Patience ! for my lands !) 
You shall control my door, sir, and my daughter! 
Farewell now ! [Exit Falcone. 

TORTESA. 

Oh, omnipotence of money! 
Ha ! ha ! Why, there's the haughtiest nobleman 
That walks in Florence. He ! — whom I have bearded- 
Checked — made conditions to — shut up his daughter — 
And all with money ! They should pull down churches 
And worship it ! Had I been 'poor, that man 
Would see me rot ere give his hand to me. 
I — as I stand here — dress'd thus — looking thus — 
The same in all — save money in my purse — 
He would have scorn'd to let me come so near 
That I could breathe on him ! Yet, that were little — 
For pride sometimes outdoes humility, 
And your great man will please to be familiar, 
To show how he can stoop. But halt you there ! 
He has a jewel that you may not name! 
His wife's above you ! You're no company 
For his most noble daughter! You are brave — 
'Tis nothing! comely — nothing! honorable — 
You are a phoenix of all human virtues — 
But, while your blood's mean, there's a frozen bar 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 13 

Betwixt you and a lady, that will melt — 
Not with religion — scarcely with the grave — 
But like a mist, with money ! 

[Enter a Servant.'] 

SERVANT. 

Please you, sir ! 
A tradesman waits to see you ! 

TORTESA. 

Let him in ! [Exit Servant 
What need have I of forty generations 
To build my name up ? I have bought with money 
The fairest daughter of their haughtiest line! 
Bought her! Falcone's daughter for so much! 
No wooing in't ! Ha ! ha ! I harp'd on that 
Till my lord winced! "My bargain!" still "my bar- 
gain!" 
Nought of my bride ! Ha ! ha ! 'Twas excellent ! 

[Enter Tradesman.] 
What's thy demand ? 

TRADESMAN. 

Ten ducats, please your lordship ! 

TORTESA. 

Out on "your lordship !" There are twelve for ten ! 
Does a lord pay like that ? Learn some name sweeter 
To my ears than " Your lordship !" I'm no lord ! 
Give me thy quittance ! Now, begone ! Who waits 1 
2 



14 TORTESA [ACT I. 

SERVANT. 

The Glover's daughter, please you, sir ! 
\Ilnter ZippaJ] 

TORTESA. 

Come in, 
My pretty neighbor ! What ! my bridal gloves ! 
Are they brought home ? 

ZIPPA. 

The signor pays so well, 
He's well served. 

TORTESA. 

Um ! why, pertinently answered ! 
And yet, my pretty one, the words were sweeter 
In any mouth than yours ! 

ZIPPA. 

That's easy true ! 

TORTESA. 

I would 'twere liking that had spurr'd your service — 
Not money, Zippa, sweet ! (She presents her parcel to 
him, with a meaning air.) 

ZIPPA. 

Your bridal gloves, sir! 
tortesa, (aside.) 
(What a fair shrew it is !) My gloves are paid for ! 
And will be thrown aside when worn a little. 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 15 



What then, sir! 

TORTESA. 

Why, the bride is paid for, too ! 

And may be thrown aside, when worn a little ! 

ZIPPA. 

You mock me now ! 

TORTESA. 

You know Falcone's palace, 
And lands, here, by Fiesole ? I bought them 
For so much money of his creditors, 
And gave them to him, in a plain, round bargain, 
For his proud daughter ! What think you of that 1 

ZIPPA. 

What else but that you loved her ! 

TORTESA. 

As I love 
The thing I give my money for — no more ! 

ZIPPA. 

You mean to love her ? 

TORTESA. 

'Twas not in the bargain ! 

ZIPPA. 

Why, what a monster do you make yourself ! 
Have you no heart? 



16 TOETESA [ACT I. 

TORTESA. 

A loving one, for you I 
Nay, never frown ! I marry this lord's daughter 
To please a devil that inhabits me ! 
But there's an angel in me — not so strong — 
And this last loves you ! 

ZIPPA. 

Thanks for your weak angel I 
I'd sooner 'twere the devil I 

TORTESA. 

Both were yours I 
But for the burning fever that I have 
To pluck at their proud blood. 

ZIPPA. 

Why, this poor lady 
Cannot have harm'd you ! 

TORTESA. 

Forty thousand times ! 
She's noble-born — there's one wrong in her cradle ! 
She's proud — why, that makes every pulse an insult — 
Sixty a minute ! She's profuse in smiles 
On those who are, to one, as stars to glow-worms — 
So I'm disparaged ! I have pass'd her by, 
Summer and winter, and she ne'er looked on me ! 
Her youth has been one tissue of contempt ! 
Her lovers, and her tutors, and her heart, 
Taught her to scorn the low-born — that am I! 
Would you have more ? 



SCENE I.] THE USTJEER. 17 

ZIPPA. 

Why, this is moon-struck madness. 

TORTESA. 

I'd have her mine, for all this — jewell'd, perfumed — 
Just as they've worshipped her at court — my slave! 
They've mewed her breath up in their silken beds — 
Blanch'd her with baths — fed her on delicate food — 
Guarded the unsunn'd dew upon her skin — 
For some lord's pleasure ! If I could not get her, 
There's a contempt in that, would make my forehead 
Hot in my grave ! 

zippa, (aside.) 
(Now Heaven forbid my fingers 
Should make your bridal gloves !) Forgive me, Signor ! 
I'll take these back, so please you ! {Takes up the par- 
cel again.) 

tortesa, (not listening to her.) 

But for this— 
This devil at my heart, thou should'st have wedded 
The richest commoner in Florence, Zippa ! 
Tell me thou wouldst ! 

zippa, (aside.) 

(Stay ! stay ! A thought! If I 
Could feign to love him, and so work on him 
To put this match off, and at last to break it — 
'Tis possible — aud so befriend this lady, 
Whom, from my soul, I pity ! Nay, I will !) 
Signor Tortesa ! 

2* 



18 TORTESA [ACT I. 

TORTESA. 

You've been dreaming now, 
Kow you would brave it in your lady-gear ; 
Was't not so ? 

ZIPPA. 

No! 

TORTESA. 

What then ? 

ZIPPA. 

I had a thought^ 
If I dare speak it. 

TORTESA. 

Nay, nay, speak it out I 

ZIPPA. 

I had forgot your riches, and I thought 
How lost you were ! 

TORTESA. 

How lost?- 

ZIPPA. 

Your qualities, 
Which far outweigh your treasure, thrown away t 
On one who does not love you ! 

TORTESA. 

Thrown away? 

ZIPPA. 

Is it not so to have a gallant shape, 



SCENE L] THE USURER. 19 

And no eye to be proud on't — to be full 

Of all that makes men dangerous to women, 

And marry where you're seorn'd? 

TORTESA. 

There's reason there ! 

ZIPPA. 

You're wise in meaner riches ! You have gold, 
'Tis out at interest ! — lands, palaces, 
They bring in rent. The gifts of nature only, 
Worth to you, Signor, more than all your gold, 
Lie profitless and idle. Your fine stature — 



Why- 



TORTESA. 
SO ! 

ZIPPA. 

Speaking eyes — 

TORTESA. 

Ay — passable ! 

ZIPPA. 

Your voice, uncommon musical — 

TORTESA. 

Nay, there, 
I think you may be honest ! 

ZIPPA. 

And your look, 
In all points lofty, like a gentleman ! 
(Aside.) (That last must choke him !) 



20 TORTESA [ACT I. 

TORTESA. 

You've a judgment, Zippa, 
That makes me wonder at you ! We are both 
Above our breeding — I have often thought so — 
And lov'd you — but to-day so more than ever, 
That my revenge must have drunk up my life, 
To still sweep over it. But when I think 
Upon that proud lord and his scornful daughter — 
I say not you're forgot — myself am lost — 
And love and memory with me ! I must go 
And visit her ! I'll see you to the door — 
Come, Zippa, come ! 

zippa, (aside.) 
(I, too, will visit her! 

You're a brave Signor, but against two women 
You'll find your wits all wanted!) 

TORTESA. 

Come away ! 
I must look on my bargain ! my good bargain ! 
Ha ! ha ! my bargain ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 21 



SCENE II. 

[The Painter' 's Studio. Angelo painting. Toma- 
so in the fore- ground, arranging a meagre repast.'] 

TOMASO. 

A thrice-pick'd bone, a stale crust, and — excellent wa- 
ter ! Will you to breakfast, Master Angelo? 

ANGELO. 

Look on this touch, good Tomaso, if it be not life itself 
— (Draws him before his easel.) Now, what think'st 
thou ? 

TOMASO. 

Urn— fair ! fair enough ! 

ANGELO. 

No more 1 

TOMASO. 

Till it mend my breakfast, I will never praise it ! Fill 
me up that outline, Master Angelo ! ( Takes up the naked 
bone.) Color me that water ! To what end dost thou 
dabble there ? 

ANGELO. 

I am weary of telling thee to what end. Have pa- 
tience, Tomaso! 



22 TORTESA [ACT I. 

tomaso, (coaxingly .) 
Would'st thou but paint the goldsmith a sign, now, in 
good fair letters ! 

ANGELO. 

Have I no genius for the art, think'st thou ? 

TOMASO. 

Thou ! ha ! ha ! 

ANGELO. 

By thy laughing, thou wouldst say no ! 

TOMASO. 

Thou a genius ! Look ! Master Angelo ! Have I not 
seen thee every day since thou wert no bigger than thy 
pencil ? 

ANGELO. 

And if thou hast? 

TOMASO. 

Do I not know thee from crown to heel ? Dost thou not 
come in at that door as I do? — sit down in that chair as 
I do ?— eat, drink, and sleep, as I do ? Dost thou not call 
me Tomaso, and I thee Angelo ? 

ANGELO. 

Well! 

TOMASO. 

Then how canst thou have genius? Are there no 
maiks? Would I clap thee on the back, and say good 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 23 

morrow ? Nay, look thee ! would I stand here telling thee 
in my wisdom what thou art, if thou wert a genius ? Go 
to, Master Angelo ! I love thee well, hut thou art compre- 
hensible ! 

ANGELO. 

But think'st thou never of my works, Tomaso? 

TOMASO. 

Thy works ! Do I not grind thy paints ? Do I not see 
thee take up thy pallette, place thy foot thus, and dab here, 
dab there ? I tell thee thou hast never done stroke yet, 
I could not take the same brush and do after thee. Thy 
works, truly! 

ANGELO. 

How think'st thou would Donatello paint, if he were 
here? 

T031ASO. 

Donatello ! I will endeavor to show thee ! ( Takes the 
pallette and brush with a mysterious air.) The pic- 
ture should be there ! His pencil, (throws down Ange- 
Ws pencil, and seizes a broom,,) his pencil should be as 
long as this broom ! He should raise it thus — with his 
eyes rolling thus — and with his body thrown back thus ! 

ANGELO. 

What then? 

TOMASO. 

Then he should see something in the air — a sort of a 



24 TORTESA [ACT I. 

hm — ha — r — r — rrrrr — (you understand.) And he 
first strides off here and looks at it — then he strides off 
there and looks at it — then he looks at his long brush — 
then he makes a dab ! dash ! flash ! (Makes three strokes 
across Angelo's picture.) 

ANGELO. 

Villain, my picture! Tomaso! (seizes his sword.) 
With thy accursed broom thou hast spoiled a picture 
Donatello could ne'er have painted ! Say thy prayers, for, 
by the Virgin ! — 

TOMASO. 

Murder ! murder ! help ! Oh, my good master ! Oh, 
my kind master ! 

ANGELO. 

Wilt say thy prayers, or die a sinner? Quick! or 
thou'rt dead ere 'tis thought on ! 

TOMASO. 

Help ! help ! mercy ! oh mercy ! 
[Enter the Duke hastily, followed by Falcone and at- 
tendants.'] 

DUKE. 

Who calls so loudly ? What ! drawn swords at mid-day ! 
Disarm him ! Now, what mad-cap youth art thou ? 

(To Angelo,) 
To fright this peaceful artist from his toil ? 
Rise up, sir ! ( To Tomaso.) 



SCENE IL] THE USURER. 25 

angelo, (aside.) 
(Could my luckless star have brought 
The Duke here at no other time!) 

duke, (looking round on the pictures.) 
Why, here's 
Matter worth stumbling on ! By Jove, a picture 
Of admirable work ! Look here, Falcone ! 
Did'st think there was a hand unknown in Florence 
Could lay on color with a skill like this ? 

tomaso, (aside to Angelo.) 
Did'st thou hear that ? 
(Duke and Falcone admire the pictures in dumb show.) 

angelo, (aside to Tomaso.) 
(The pallette's on thy thumb — 
Swear 'tis thy work !) 

TOMASO. 

Mine, master ? 

ANGELO. 

Seest thou not 
The shadow of my fault will fall upon it 
While I stand here a culprit ? The Duke loves thee 
As one whom he has chanc'd to serve at need, 
And kindness mends the light upon a picture, 
I know that well ! 

falcone, (to Tomaso.) 
The Duke would know your name, Sir ! 
3 



26 TORTESA [ACT I. 

tomaso, (as Angelo pulls him by the sleeve.) 
Tom — Angelo, my lord ! 

duke, (to Falcone.) 
We've fallen here 
Upon a treasure ! 

FALCONE. 

'Twas a lucky chance 
That led you in, my lord ! 

DUKE. 

I blush to think 
That I might ne'er have found such excellence 
But for a chance cry, thus ! Yet now 'tis found 
I'll cherish it, believe me. 

FALCONE. 

'Tis a duty 
Your Grace is never slow to. 

DUKE. 

I've a thought — 
If you'll consent to it ? 

FALCONE. 

Before 'tis spoken, 
My gracious liege ! 

DUKE. 

You know how well my duchess 
Loves your fair daughter. Not as maid of honor 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 27 

Lost to our service, but as parting child, 
We grieve to lose her. 

FALCONE. 

My good lord ! 



Nay, nay — 
She is betroth'd now, and you needs must wed her ! 
My thought was, to surprise my grieving duchess 
With a resemblance of your daughter, done 
By this rare hand, here. 'Tis a thought well found, 
You'll say it is ! 

falcone, (hesitating.) 

Your Grace is bound away 

On a brief journey. Were't not best put off 

Till our return ? 

nuKE, (laughing.) 

I see you fear to let 
The sun shine on your rose-bud till she bloom 
Fairly in wedlock. But this painter, see you, 
Is an old man, of a poor, timid bearing, 
And may be trusted to look close upon her. 
Come, come ! I'll have my way ! Good Angelo, 

(To Tomaso.) 
A pen and ink ! And you, my lord Falcone ! 
Write a brief missive to your gentle daughter 
T' admit him privately. 



28 TORTESA [ACT I. 

FALCONE. 

I will, Duke. [ Writes. 

angelo, (aside.) 

(Now 
Shall I go back or forwards ? If he writes 
Admit this Angelo, why, I am he, 
And that rare phoenix, hidden from the world, 
Sits to my burning pencil. She's a beauty 
Without a parallel, they say in Florence. 
Her picture '11 be remembered ! Let the Duke 
Rend me with horses, it shall ne'er be said 
I dared not pluck at Fortune !) 

tomaso, (aside to Angelo.) 
Signor ! 

angelo. 

(Hush! 
Betray me, and I'll kill thee !) 
duke. 

Angelo ! 
angelo, (aside to Tomaso.) 
Speak, or thou diest ! 
tomaso, (to the Duke.) 
My lord ! 

DUKE, 

Thou hast grown old 
In the attainment of an excellence 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 29 

Well worth thy time and study. The clear touch, 
Won only by the patient toil of years, 
Is on your fair works yonder. 

tomaso, (astonished.) 

Those, my lord ! 

DUKE. 

I shame I never saw them until now. 

But here's a new beginning. Take this missive 

From Count Falcone to his peerless daughter. 

I'd have a picture of her for my palace. 

Paint me her beauty as I know you can, 

And as you do it well, my favor to you 

Shall make up for the past. 

tomaso, (as Angelo 'pulls his sleeve.) 
Your Grace is kind ! 

DUKE. 

For this rude youth, name you his punishment I 

( Turns to Angelo.) 
His sword was drawn upon an unarm'd man. 
He shall be fined, or, as you please, imprisoned. 
Speak ! 

TOMASO. 

If your Grace would bid him pay — 

DUKE. 

What sum 1 

TOMASO. 

Some twenty flasks of wine, my gracious liege, 
3* 



30 TORTESA [ACT I. 

If it so please you. 'Tis a thriftless servant 
I keep for love I bore to his dead father. 
But all his faults are nothing to a thirst 
That sucks my cellar dry ! 

DUKE. 

He's well let off! 
Write out a bond to pay of your first gains 
The twenty flasks ! 

ANGELO. 

Most willingly, my liege. [ Writes. 
duke, (to Tomaso.) 
Are you content ? 

TOMASO. 

Your Grace, I am ! 

DUKE. 

Come then ! 
Once more to horse ! Nay, nay, man, look not black ! 
Unless your daughter were a wine-flask, trust me 
There's no fear of the painter ! 

FALCONE. 

So I think, 
And you shall rule me. 'Tis the roughest shell 
Hides the good pearl. Adieu, Sir ! (to Tomaso.) 

[Exeunt Duke and Falcone. 

(Angelo seizes the missive from Tomaso, and strides 
up and down the stage, reading it exuliingly. After 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 31 

looking at him a moment, Tomaso does the same with 
the bond for the twenty flasks.) 

ANGEL0. 

Give the letter ! 
Oh, here is golden opportunity — 
The ladder at my foot, the prize above. 
And angels beckoning upwards. I will paint 
A picture now, that in the eyes of men 
Shall live like loving daylight. They shall cease 
To praise it for the constant glory of it. 
There's not a stone built in the palace wall 
But shall let thro' the light of it, and Florence 
Shall be a place of pilgrimage for ever 
To see the work of low-born Angelo. 
Oh that the world were made without a night, 
That I could toil while in my fingers play 
This dexterous lightning, wasted so in sleep. 
I'll out, and muse how I shall paint this beauty, 
So, wile the night away. [Exit. 

tomaso, {coming forward with his bond.) 
Prejudice aside, that is a pleasant-looking piece of pa- 
per ! {Holds it off, and regards it with a pleased air.) 
Your bond to pay, now, is an ill-visaged rascal — you 
would know him across a church — nay — with the wind 
fair, smell him a good league ! But this has, in some 
sort, a smile. It is not like other paper. It reads melli- 
fluously. Your name is in the right end of it for music. 
Let me dwell upon it ! ( Unfolds it, and reads) " /, To- 



32 TORTESA [ACT I. 

maso, promise to pay " — stay ! " /, Tomaso — / To- 
maso promise to pay to Angelo my master twenty 
flasks of wine!" (Rubs his eyes, and turns the note over 
and over.) There's a damnable twist in it that spoils 
all. " / Tomaso " — why, that's /. And " I promise to 
pay " — Now, I promise no such thing ! ( Turns it upside 
down, and, after trying in vain to alter the reading, 
tears it in two.) There are some men that cannot 
write ten words in their own language without a blunder. 
Out, filthy scraps. If the Glover's daughter have not com- 
passion upon me, I die of thirst ! I'll seek her out ! A pest 
on ignorance ! 

(Pulls his hat sidkily over his eyes, and walks off.) 



SCENE III. 

[An Apartment in the Falcone Palace. Angelo dis- 
covered listening.] 

ANGELO. 

Did I hear footsteps? (He listens.) Fancy plays me 

tricks 
In my impatience for this lovely wonder ! 
That window's to the north ! The light falls cool. 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 33 

I'll set my easel here, and sketch her — Stay ! 
How shall I do that? Is she proud or sweet? 
Will she sit silent, or converse and smile ? 
Will she be vexed or pleased to have a stranger 
Pry through her beauty for the soul that's in it? 
Nay, then I heard a footstep — she is here ! 

(Enter Isabella, reading her father's missive.) 

ISABELLA. 

" The duke would have your picture for the duchess 
Done by this rude man, Angelo ! Receive him 
With modest privacy, and let your kindness 
Be measured by his merit, not his garb." 

ANGELO. 

Fair lady ! 

ISABELLA. 

Who speaks? 

ANGELO. 

Angelo ! 

ISABELLA. 

You've come, Sir, 
To paint a dull face, trust me ! 

angelo, (aside.) 

(Beautiful, 
Beyond all dreaming !) 

ISABELLA. 

I've no smiles to show you, 
Not ev'n a mock one ! Shall I sit ? 



34 TORTESA [ACT I. 

ANGELO. 

No, lady ! 
I'll steal your beauty while you move, as well ! 
So you but breathe, the air still brings to me 
That which outdoes all pencilling. 

Isabella, (walking apart.) 
His voice 
Is not a rude one. What a fate is mine, 
When ev'n the chance words on a poor youth's tongue, 
Contrasted with the voice which I should love, 
Seems rich and musical! 

angelo, (to himself, as he draws.) 

How like a swan, 
Drooping his small head to a lily-cup, 
She curves that neck of pliant ivory ! 
I'll paint her thus ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 

Forgetful where he is, 
He thinks aloud. This is, perhaps, the rudeness 
My father fear'd might anger me. 

ANGELO. 

What color 
Can match the clear red of those glorious lips ? 
Say it were possible to trace the arches, 
Shaped like the drawn bow of the god of love — 
How tint them, after? 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 35 

ISABELLA. 

Still, he thinks not of me, 
But murmurs to his picture. 'Twere sweet praise, 
Were it a lover whispering it. I'll listen, 
As I walk, still. 

ANGELO. 

They say, a cloudy veil 
Hangs ever at the crystal-gate of heaven, 
To bar the issue of its blinding glory. 
So droop those silken lashes to an eye 
Mortal could never paint ! 

ISABELLA. 

There's flattery, 
Would draw down angels ! 

ANGELO. 

Now, what alchymy 
Can mock the rose and lily of her cheek ! 
I must look closer on't ! {Advancing.) Fair lady, please 

you, 
I'll venture to your side. 

ISABELLA. 

Sir! 
angelo, {examining her cheek.) 

There's a mixture 
Of white and red here, that defeats my skill. 
If you'll forgive me, I'll observe an instant, 



36 TORTESA [ACT I. 

How the bright blood and the transparent pearl 
Melt to each other ! 

Isabella, {receding from him.) 
You're too free, Sir ! 
angelo, {with surprise.) 

Madam ! 
Isabella, {aside.) 
And yet, I think not so. He must look on it, 
To paint it well. 

ANGELO. 

Lady ! the daylight's precious ! 
Pray you, turn to me ! In my study, here, 
I've tried to fancy how that ivory shoulder 
Leads the white light off from your arching neck, 
But cannot, for the envious sleeve that hides it. 
Please you, displace it ! 

{Raises his hand to the sleeve.) 

ISABELLA. 

Sir, you are too bold ! 

ANGELO. 

Pardon me, lady ! Nature's masterpiece 

Should be beyond your hiding, or my praise ! 

Were you less marvellous, I were too bold ; 

But there's a pure divinity in beauty, 

Which the true eye of art looks on with reverence, 

Though, like the angels, it were all unclad ! 

You have no right to hide it I 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 37 

ISABELLA. 

How? No right? 

ANGELO. 

'Tis the religion of our art, fair madam ! 
That, by oft looking on the type divine 
In which we first were moulded, men remember 
The heav'n they're born to ! You've an errand here, 
To show how look the angels. But, as Vestals 
Cherish the sacred fire, yet let the priest 
Light his lamp at it for a thousand altars, 
So is your beauty unassoiled, though I 
Ravish a copy for the shut-out world ! 
Isabella, {aside.) 
Here is the wooing that should win a maid ! 
Bold, yet respectful — free, yet full of honor ! 
I never saw a youth with gentler eyes; 
I never heard a voice that pleased me more ; 
Let me look on him ? 

(Enter Tortesa, unperceived.) 

ANGELO. 

In a form like yours, 
All parts are perfect, madam ! yet, unseen, 
Impossible to fancy. With your leave 
I'll see your hand unglov'd. 

Isabella, (removing her glove.) 

I have no heart 
To keep it from you, signor ! There it is ! 
4 



38 TORTESA [ACT I. 

angelOj (taking it in his own.) 
Oh God ! how beautiful thy works may be ! 
Inimitably perfect ! Let me look 
Close on the tracery of these azure veins ! 
With what a delicate and fragile thread 
They weave their subtle mesh beneath the skin, 
And meet, all blushing, in these rosy nails ! 
How soft the texture of these tapering fingers! 
How exquisite the wrist ! How perfect all ! 

( Tortesa rushes forward.) 

TORTESA. 

Now have I heard enough ! Why, what are you, 
To palm the hand of my betrothed bride 
With this licentious freedom? 

(Angelo turns composedly to his work.) 

And you, madam ! 
With a first troth scarce cold upon your lips — 
Is this your chastity ? 

ISABELLA. 

My father's roof 
Is over me ! I'm not your wife ! 

TORTESA. 

Bought ! paid for ! 
The wedding toward — have I no right in you? 
Your father, at my wish, bade you be private ; 
Is this obedience ? 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 39 

ISABELLA. 

Count Falcone's will 
Has, to his daughter, ever been a law ; 
This, in prosperity — and now, when chance 
Frowns on his broken fortunes, I were dead 
To love and pity, were not soul and body 
Spent for his smallest need ! I did consent 
To wed his ruthless creditor for this! 
I would have sprung into the sea, the grave, 
As questionless and soon ! My troth is yours ! 
But I'm not wedded yet, and, till I am, 
The hallowed honor that protects a maid 
Is round me, like a circle of bright fire ! 
A savage would not cross it — nor shall you ! 
I'm mistress of my presence. Leave me, Sir ! 

TORTESA. 

There's a possession of some lordly acres 
Sold to Falcone for that lily hand ! 
The deed's delivered, and the hand's my own ! 
I'll see that no man looks on't. 

ISABELLA. 

Shall a lady 
Bid you begone twice? 

TORTESA. 

Twenty times, iPt please you! 

(She looks at Angelo, who continues tranquilly paint- 
ing.') 



40 



TOETESA [ACT I. 



ISABELLA. 

Does he not wear a sword ? Is he a coward, 
That he can hear this man heap insult on me, 
And ne'er fall on him ? 

TORTESA. 

Lady ! to your chamber ! 
I have a touch to give this picture, here, 
But want no model for't. Come, come. 

{Offers to take her by the arm.) 

ISABELLA, 

Stand back! 
Now, will he see this wretch lay hands on me, 
And never speak? He cannot be a coward ! 
No. no ! some other reason — not a coward ! 
I could not love a coward ! 

TORTESA. 

If you will, 
Stay where you're better miss'd — 'tis at your pleasure ; 
I'll hew your kisses from the saucy lips 
Of this bold painter — look on't, if you will ! 
And first, to mar his picture ! 

{He strikes at the canvass, when Angelo suddenly 
draws, attacks and disarms him.) 



Hold ! What wouldst thou 1 
Fool ! madman ! dog ! What wouldst thou with my pic-* 
ture? 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 41 

Speak ! — But thy life would not bring back a ray 
Of precious daylight, and I cannot waste it ! 
Begone! begone ! 

( Throws Tortesa's sword from the window, and re- 
turns to his picture.) 

I'll back to paradise ! 

'Twas this touch that he marr'd ! So ! fair again ! 

tortesa, (going out.) 

I'll find you, Sir, when I'm in cooler blood ! 

And, madam, you ! or Count Falcone for you, 

Shall rue this scorn ! [Exit. 

Isabella, (looking at Angelo.) 

Lost in his work once more ! 
I shall be jealous of my very picture ! 
Yet one who can forget his passions so — 
Peril his life, and, losing scarce a breath. 
Turn to his high, ambitious toil again — 
Must have a heart for whose belated waking 
Queens might keep vigil ! 

ANGELO. 

Twilight falls, fair lady ! 
I must give o'er ! Pray heaven, the downy wing 
Of its most loving angel guard your beauty ! 
Good night ! 

( Goes out with a low reverence. 
4* 



42 TORTESA THE USURER. [ACTI. 

ISABELLA. 

Good night ! 
(She looks after him a moment, and then walks 
thoughtfully off the stage.) 



END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

[ Tomaso discovered sitting at his supper, with a bottle 
of water before him.'] 

tomaso. 
Water! (Sips a little with a grimace.) I think, 
since the world was drowned in it, it has tasted of sin- 
ners. The pious throat refuses it. Other habits grow 
pleasant with use — but the drinking of water lessens the 
liking of it. Now, why should not some rivers run wine 1 
There are varieties in the eatables — will any wise 
man tell me why there should be but one drinkable in 
nature — and that water ? My mind's made up — it's the 
curse of transgression. 

(A rap at the door.) 
Come in ! 

[Enter Zippa, with a basket and bottle.'] 

ZIPPA. 

Good even, Tomaso ! 

TOMASO. 

Zippa ! I had a presentiment — 



44 TORTESA fACT II. 

ZIPPA. 

What ! of my coming ? 

TOMASO. 

No — of thy bottle! Look! I was stinting myself in 
water to leave room ! 

ZIPPA. 

The reason is superfluous. There would be room in 
thee for wine, if thou wert drowned in the sea. 

TOMASO. 

God forbid ! 

ZIPPA. 

What — that thou shouldst be drowned ? 

TOMASO. 

No— but that being drowned, I should have room for 
wine. 

ZIPPA. 

Why, now ? — why ? 

TOMASO. 

If I had room for wine, I should want it — and to want 
wine in the bottom of the sea, -\frere a plague of Sodom. 

ZIPPA. 

Where's Angelo? 

TOMASO. 

What's in thy bottle ? Show ! Show ! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 45 

ZIPPA. 

Tell me where he is — what he has done since yesterday 
— what thought on — what said — how he has looked, and 
if he still loves me; and when thou art thirsty with 
truth-telling — (dry work for such a liar as thou art,) — 
thou shalt learn what is in my bottle ! 

TOMASO. 

Nay — learning be hanged ! 

zippa. 
So says the fool ! 

TOMASO. 

Speak advisedly ! Was not Adam blest till he knew 
good and evil ? 

zippa. 
Right for once. 

TOMASO. 

Then he lost Paradise by too much learning. 

ZIPPA. 

Ha ! ha ! Hadst thou been consulted, we should still 
be there ! 

TOMASO. 

Snug ! I would have had my inheritance in a small 
vineyard ! 

ZIPPA. 

Tell me what I ask of thee. 



46 TORTESA [ACT II. 

TOMASO. 

Thou shalt have a piece of news for a cup of wine — 
pay and take — till thy bottle be dry ! 

ZIPPA. 

Come on, then ! and if thou must lie, let it be flattery. 
That's soonest forgiven. 

TOMASO. 

And last forgotten ! Pour out ! (She pours a cup 
full, and gives him.) The Duke was here yesterday. — 

ZIPPA. 

Lie the first ! 

TOMASO. 

And made much of my master's pictures. 

ZIPPA. 

Nay — that would have made two good lies. Thou'rt 
prodigal of stuff! 

TOMASO. 

Pay two glasses, then, and square the reckoning ! 

ZIPPA. 

Come ! Lie the third ! 

TOMASO. 

What wilt thou wager it's a lie, that Angelo is paint- 
ing a court lady for the duchess ? 

ZIPPA. 

Oh Lord ! Take the bottle ! They say there's truth 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 47 

in wine — but as truth is impossible to thee, drink thyself, 
at least, down to probabilities ! 

TOMASO. 

Look you there ! When was virtue encouraged ? Here 
have I been telling God's truth, and it goes for a lie. 
Hang virtue ! Produce thy cold chicken, and I'll tell 
thee a lie for the wings and two for the side-bones and 
breast. ( Offers to take the chicken.') 

ZIPPA. 

Stay ! stay ! It's for thy master, thou glutton ! 

TOMASO. 

Who's ill a-bed, and forbid meat. (Angelo enters.) 
I would have told thee so before, but feared to grieve 
thee. (She would have a lie !) 

zippa, (starting up.) 
Ill ! Angelo ill ! Is he very ill, good Tomaso? 

TOMASO. 

Very! (Seizes the chicken, as Angelo claps him on 
the shoulder.) 

ANGELO. 

Will thy tricks never end ? 

TOMASO. 

Ehem ! ehem ! ( Thrusts the chicken into his pocket.) 

ANGELO. 

How art thou, Zippa? 



48 TORTESA L ACT IL 

ZIPPA. 

Well, dear Angelo ! (Giving him her hand.) And 
thou wert not ill, indeed } 

ANGELO. 

Never better, by the test of a true hand ! I have done 
work to-day, I trust will be remembered ! 

ZIPPA. 

Is it true it's a fair lady? 

ANGELO. 

A lady with a lace so angelical, Zippa, that — 

ZIPPA. 

That thou didst forget mine 1 

ANGELO. 

In truth, I forgot there was such a thing as a world, and 
so forgot all in it. I was in heaven ! 

tomaso, (aside, as he picks the leg of the chicken.) 
(Prosperity is excellent white-wash, and her love is 
an old score !) 

zippa ; (bitterly.) 
I am glad thou wert pleased, Angelo ! — very glad I 

tomaso, (aside.) 
(Glad as an eel to be fried.) 

zippa, (aside.) 
("In Heaven," was he ! If I pay him not that, may 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 49 

my brains rot ! By what right, loving me, is he " in 
Heaven" with another ?) 

tomaso, (aside.) 
(No more wine and cold chicken from that quarter !) 

zippa, (aside.) 
(Tortesa loves me, and my false game may be played 
true. If he wed not Falcone's daughter, he will wed me, 
and so I am revenged on this fickle Angelo ! I have the 
heart to do it ! 

ANGELO. 

What dost thou muse on, Zippa 1 

ZIPPA. 

On one I love better than thee, Signor ! 

ANGELO. 

What, angry ? (Seizes his pencil.) Hold there till 
I sketch thee ! By Jove, thou'rt not half so pretty when 
thou'rt pleased ! 

ZIPPA. 

Adieu, Signor ! your mockery will have an end ! 
( Goes out with an angry air.) 

ANGELO. 

What ! gone ? Nay, I'll come with thee, if thou'rt in 
earnest ! What whim's this ? ( Takes up his hat.) 
Ho, Zippa ! (Follows in pursuit.) 

tomaso, (pulls the chicken from his pocket.) 
Come forth, last of the chickens ! She will ne'er 
5 



50 TORTESA [ACT II 

forgive him, and so ends the succession of cold fowl ! 
One glass to its memory, and then to bed ! (Drinks , and 
takes up the candle.) A woman is generally unsafe — 
but a jealous one spoils all confidence in drink. 

[Exit, muttering. 



SCENE II. 

[An Apartment in the Falcone Palace. Enter Ser- 
vant, shewing in Zippa.] 

SERVANT. 

Wait here, if't please you ! 

ZIPPA. 

Thanks! {Exit Servant.) My heart misgives me ! 

'Tis a bold errand I am come upon — 

And I a stranger to her ! Yet, perchance 

She needs a friend — the proudest do sometimes — 

And mean ones may be welcome. Look ! she comes ! 

ISABELLA. 

You wished to speak with me 1 

ZIPPA. 

I did — but now 
My memory is crept into my eyes ; 



SCENE II."] THE USURER. 51 

I cannot think for gazing on your beauty ! 
Pardon me, lady ! 

ISABELLA. 

You're too fair yourself 
To find my face a wonder. Speak ! Who are you ? 

ZIPPA. 

Zippa, the Glover's daughter, and your friend ! 

ISABELLA. 

My friend ? 

ZIPPA. 

I said so. You're a noble lady 
And I a low-born maid — yet I have come 
To offer you my friendship. 

ISABELLA. 

This seems strange ! 

ZIPPA. 

I'll make it less so, if you'll give me leave. 

ISABELLA. 

You'll please me ! 

ZIPPA. 

Briefly — for the time is precious 
To me as well as you — I have a lover, 
A true one, as I think, who yet finds boldness 
To seek your hand in marriage. 

ISABELLA. 

How ? We're rivals ! 



52 TOETESA [ACT II. 

ZIPPA. 

Tortesa loves me, and for that I'd wed him. 
Yet I'm not sure I love him more than you — 
And you must hate him. 

ISABELLA. 

So far freely spoken — 
What was your thought in coming to me now ? 

ZIPPA. 

To mar your match with him, and so make mine ! 

ISABELLA. 

Why, free again ! Yet, as you love him not 
'Tis strange you seek to wed him ! 

ZIPPA. 

Oh no, madam ! 
Woman loves once unthinkingly. The heart 
Is born with her first love, and, new to joy, 
Breathes to the first wind its delicious sweetness, 
But gets none back! So comes its bitter wisdom ! 
When next we think of love, 'tis who loves us ! 
I said Tortesa loved me ! 

ISABELLA. 

You shall have him 
With all my heart ! See — I'm your friend already ! 
And friends are equals. So approach, and tell me, 
What was this first love like, that you discourse 
So prettily upon ? 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 53 

zippa, (aside.) 
(Dear Angelo ! 
'Twill be a happiness to talk of him !) 
I loved a youth, kind madam ! far beneath 
The notice of your eyes, unknown and poor. 

ISABELLA. 

A handsome youth ? 

ZIPPA. 

Indeed, I thought him so ! 
But you would not. I loved him out of pity ; 
No one cared for him. 

ISABELLA. 

Was he so forlorn 7 

ZIPPA. 

He was our neighbor, and I knew his toil 
Was almost profitless ; and 'twas a pleasure 
To fill my basket from our wasteful table, 
And steal, at eve, to sup with him. 

Isabella, (smiling.) 

Why, that 
Was charity, indeed I He loved you for it — 
Was't not so ? 

ZIPPA. 

He was like a brother to me — 
The kindest brother sister ever had. 
I built my hopes upon his gentleness : 
5* 



54 TORTESA [ACT II. 

He had no other quality to love. 

Th' ambitious change — so do the fiery -hearted : 

The lowly are more constant. 

ISABELLA. 

And yet, he 
Was, after all, a false one ? 

ZIPPA. 

Nay, dear lady ! 
I'll check my story there ! 'Twould end in anger, 
Perhaps in tears. If I am not too bold, 
Tell me, in turn, of all your worshippers — 
Was there ne'er one that pleased you ? 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(Now could I 
Prate to this humble maid, of Angelo, 
Till matins rang again !) My gentle Zippa ! 
I have found all men prompt to talk of love, 
Save only one. I will confess to you, 
For that one could I die ! Yet, so unlike 
Your faithless lover must I draw his picture, 
That you will wonder how such opposites 
Could both be loved of women. 

ZIPPA. 

Was he fair, 
Or brown 1 

ISABELLA. 

In truth, I marked not his complexion. 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 55 

ziprA. 
Tall? 

ISABELLA. 

That I know not. 

ZIPPA. 

Well — robust, or slight ? 

ISABELLA. 

I cannot tell, indeed ! I heard him speak — 
Looked in his eyes, and saw him calm and angered — 
And see him now, in fancy, standing there — 
Yet know not limb or feature ! 

ZIPPA. 

You but saw 
A shadow, lady ! 

ISABELLA. 

Nay — I saw a soul ! 
His eyes were light with it. The forehead lay 
Above their fires in calm tranquillity. 
As the sky sleeps o'er thunder-clouds. His look 
Was mixed of these — earnest, and yet subdued — 
Gentle, yet passionate — sometimes half god-like 
In its command, then mild and sweet again, 
Like a stern angel taught humility ! 
Oh ! when he spoke, my heart stole out to him ! 
There was a spirit-echo in his voice — 
A sound of thought — of under-playing music — 



56 TORTESA [ACT II. 

As if, before it ceased in human ears, 
The echo was caught up in fairy -land ! 

ZIPPA. 

Was he a courtier, madam? 

ISABELLA. 

He's as lowly 
In birth and fortunes, as your false one, Zippa ! 
Yet rich in genius, and of that ambition, 
That he'll outlast nobility with fame. 
Have you seen such a man 1 

ZIPPA. 

Alas ! sweet lady ! 
My life is humble, and such wondrous men 
Are far above my knowing. I could wish 
To see one ere I died ! 

ISABELLA. 

You shall, believe me ! 
But while we talk of lovers, we forget 
In how brief time you are to win a husband. 
Come to my chamber, Zippa, and I'll see 
How with your little net you'll snare a bird 
Fierce as this rude Tortesa ! 

zippa. . 
We will find 
A way, dear lady, if we die for it ! 

ISABELLA. 

Shall we ? Come with me, then ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE IIT.] THE USURER. 57 



SCENE III. 

[An Apartment in the Falcone Palace. Tortesa alone 
waiting the return of the Count.] 

tortesa, (musing.) 
There are some luxuries too rich for purchase. 
Your soul, 'tis said, will buy them, of the devil — 
Money' 8 too poor ! What would I not give, now, 
That I could scorn what I can hate and ruin ! 
Scorn is the priceless luxury ! In heaven, 
The angels pity. They are blest to do so ; 
For, pitying, they look down. We do't by scorn I 
There lies the privilege of noble birth ! — 
The jewel of that bloated toad is scorn ! 
You may take all else from him. You — being mean — 
May get his palaces — may wed his daughter — 
Sleep in his bed — have all his peacock menials 
Watching your least glance, as they did " my lord's j" 
And, well-possess'd thus, you may pass him by 
On his own horse ; and while the vulgar crowd 
Gape at your trappings, and scarce look on him — 
He, in his rags, and starving for a crust — 
You'll feel his scorn, through twenty coats of mail, 
Hot as a sun-stroke ! Yet there's something for us ! 
Th' archangel fiend, when driven forth from heaven, 
Put on the serpent, and found sweet revenge 
Trailing his slime through Eden ! So will I ! 



58 TORTESA [ACT II. 

[Enter Falcone, booted and spurred.] 

FALCONE. 

Good morrow, signor, 

TORTESA. 

Well-arrived, my lord ! 
How sped your riding 1 

FALCONE. 

Fairly ! Has my daughter 
Left you alone ? 

TORTESA. 

She knows that I am here. 
Nay — she'll come presently ! A word in private, 
Since we're alone, my lord ! 

FALCONE. 

I listen, signor! 

TORTESA. 

Your honor, as I think, outweighs a bond? 

FALCONE. 

'Twas never questioned. 

TORTESA. 

On your simple word, 
And such more weight as hangs upon the troth 
Of a capricious woman, I gave up 
A deed of lands to you. 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 59 

FALCONE. 
You did. 
TORTESA. 

To be 
Forfeit, and mine again — the match not made 1 

FALCONE. 

How if you marr'd it ? 

TORTESA. 

I? I'm not a boy ! 

What I would yesterday, I will to-day ! 
I'm not a lover — 

FALCONE. 

How ? So near your bridal, 
And not a lover ? Shame, sir ! 

TORTESA. 

My lord count, 
You take me for a fool ! 

FALCONE. 

Is't like a fool 
To love a high-born lady, and your bride? 

TORTESA. 

Yes ; a thrice-sodden fool — if it were I ! 
I'm not a mate for her — you know I am not ! 
You know that, in her heart, your haughty daughter 
Scorns me — ineffably ! 



60 TORTESA [ACT II. 



You seek occasion 
To slight her, signor ! 

TORTESA. 

No ! I'll marry her 
If all the pride that cast down Lucifer 
Lie in her bridal-ring ! But, mark me still ! 
I'm not one of your humble citizens, 
To bring my money-bags and make you rich— 
That, when we walk together, I may take 
Your shadow for my own ! These limbs are clay — 
Poor, common clay, my lord ! And she that weds me, 
Comes down to my estate. 

FALCONE. 

By this you mean not 
To shut her from her friends? 

TORTESA. 

You'll see your daughter 
By coming to my house — not else ! D'ye think 
I'll have a carriage to convey my wife 
Where she will hear me laughed at ? — buy fine horses 
To prance a measure to the mocking jeers 
Of fools that ride with her ? Nay — keep a table 
Where I'm the skeleton that mars the feast? 
No, no — no, no ! 

falcone, (aside.) 

(With half the provocation. 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 61 

I would, ere now, have struck an emperor ! 
But baser pangs make this endurable. 
I'm poor — so patience !) What was it beside 
You would have said to me ? 

TORTESA. 

But this : Your daughter 
Has, in your absence, covered me with scorn! 
We'll not talk of it — if the match goes on, 
I care not to remember it ! (Aside.) (She shall — 
And bitterly !) 

Falcone, (aside.) 
(My poor, poor Isabella ! 
The task was too much !) 

TORTESA. 

There's a cost of feeling — 
You may not think it much — /reckon it 
A thousand pounds per day — in playing thus 
The suitor to a lady cramm'd with pride ! 
I've writ you out a bond to pay me for it ! 
See here ! — to pay me for my shame and pains, 
If I should lose your daughter for a wife, 
A thousand pounds per day — dog cheap at that ! 
Sign it, my lord, or give me back my deeds, 
And traffic cease between us! 

FALCONE. 

Is this earnest, 
Or are you mad or trifling ? Do I not 
6 



62 TORTESA [ACT II. 

Give you my daughter with an open hand? 
Are you betroth'd, or no ? 

[Enter a Servant. - ] 
Who's this? 

SERVANT. 

A page 
Sent from the Duke. 

FALCONE. 

Admit him ! 
[Enter Page, with a letter.] 

PAGE. 

For my lord, 
The Count Falcone. 

tortesa, (aside.) 

(In a moment more 
I would have had a bond of such assurance 
Her father on his knees should bid me take her. 

(Looking at Falcone, who smiles as he reads.) 
What glads him now ?) 

FALCONE. 

You shall not have the bond ! 

tortesa. 

No ? (aside.) (Here's a change ! What hint from 

Duke or devil 
Stirs him to this ?) My lord, 'twere best the bridal 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 63 

Took place upon the instant. Is your daughter 
Ready within ? 

FALCONE. 

You'll never wed my daughter ! 
[Enter Isabella.'] 

TORTESA. 

My lord ! 

FALCONE. 

She's fitlier mated ! Here she comes ! 
My lofty Isabella ! My fair child ! 
How dost thou, sweet ? 

Isabella, (embracing him.) 

Come home, and I not know it ! . 
Art well ? I see thou art ! Hast ridden hard? 
My dear, dear father ! 

FALCONE. 

Give me breath to tell thee 
Some better news, my lov'd one ! 



Nay, the joy 
To see you back again 's enough for now. 
There can be no news better, and for this 
Let's keep a holiday twixt this and sunset ! 
Shut up your letter, and come see my flowers, 
And hear my birds sing, will you? 



64- TORTESA [ACT II. 

FALCONE. 

Look, my darling, 
Upon this first ! (Holds up the letter.) 

ISABELLA. 

No ! you shall tell me all 
You and the Duke did — where you slept, where ate, 
Whether you dream'd of me — and, now I think on't, 
Found you no wild-flow'rs as you cross'd the mountain ? 

FALCONE. 

My own bright child ! (Looks fondly upon her.) 
tortesa, (aside.) 
('Twill mar your joy, my lord ! 
To see the Glover's daughter in your palace, 
And your proud daughter houseless !) 

faloone, (to Isabella.) 

You'll not hear 
The news I have for you ! 

tortesa, (advancing.) 

Before you tell it, 
I'll take my own again ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(Tortesa here!) (curtseys.) 
I crave your pardon, sir; I saw you not! 
(Oh hateful monster!) (aside.) 

FALCONE. 

Listen to my news> 



SCENE III] THE USURER. 65 

Signor Tortesa ! It concerns you, trust me ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 
(More of this hateful marriage !) 

TORTESA. 

Tell it briefly, 
My time is precious ! 

FALCONE. 

Sir, I'll sum it up 
In twenty words. The Duke has information, 
By what means yet I know not, that my need 
Spurs me to marry an unwilling daughter. 
He bars the match ! — redeems my lands and palace, 
And has enrich'd the young Count Julian, 
For whom he bids me keep my daughter's hand ! 
Kind, royal master ! (Reads the note to himself.) 

Isabella, (aside.) 
(Never !) 

tortesa, (aside, with suppressed rage.) 
('Tis a lie ! 
He's mad, or plays some trick to gain the time — 
Or there's a woman hatching deviltry ! 
We'll see.) (Looks at Isabella.) 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(I'll die first ! Sold and taken back, 
Then thrust upon a husband paid to take me! 
To save my father I have weigh'd myself, 
6* 



66 TORTESA [ACT II. 

Heart, hand, and honor, against so much land !— 

I — Isabella ! I'm nor hawk nor hound, 

And, if I change my master, I will choose him! 

tortesa, (aside.) 
She seems not over-pleased ! 

PAGE. 

Your pardon, Count ! 
I wait your answer to the Duke ! 

FALCONE. 

My daughter 
Shall give it you herself. What sweet phrase have you, 
Grateful and eloquent, to bear your thanks ? 
Speak, Isabella ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 
(There's but one way left ! 
Courage, poor heart, and think on Angelo !) 
(Advances suddenly to Tortesa.) 
Signor Tortesa ! 

TORTESA. 

Madam ! 

ISABELLA. 

There's my hand 2 
Is't yours, or no? 

TORTESA. 

There was a troth between us ! 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 67 

ISABELLA. 

Is't broke ? 

TORTESA. 

/ have not broke it ! 

ISABELLA. 

Then why stand you 
Mute as a statue, when 'tis struck asunder 
Without our wish or knowledge ? Would you be 
Half so indifferent had you lost a horse 1 
Am I worth having ? 

TORTESA. 

Is rny life worth having 1 

ISABELLA. 

Then are you robb'd ! Look to it ! 

FALCONE. 

Is she mad ! 

TORTESA. 

You'll marry me 1 

ISABELLA. 

I will ! 



By heaven you shall not ! 
What, shall my daughter wed a leprosy — 
A bloated money -canker? Leave her hand! 
Stand from him, Isabella ! 



68 TORTESA [ACT II. 

ISABELLA. 

Sir ! you gave me 
This "leper" for a husband, three days gone ; 
I did not ask my heart if I could love him ! 
I took him with the meekness of a child. 
Trusting my father ! T was shut up for him — 
Forc'd to receive no other company — 
My wedding-clothes made, and the match proclaimed 
Through Florence ! 

FALCONE. 

Do you love him ? — tell me quickly ! 

ISABELLA. 

You never ask'd me that when I was bid 
To wed him ! 

FALCONE. 

I am dumb ! 

TORTESA. 

Ha ! ha ! well put ! 
At him again, 'Bel ! Well ! I've had misgivings 
That there was food in me for ladies' liking. 
I've been too modest ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 
(Monster of disgust!) 

FALCONE. 

My daughter ! I would speak with you in private ! 
Signor ! you'll pardon me. 



SCENE III.] THEUSURER. 69 

ISABELLA. 

Go you, dear father! 
I'll follow straight, [Exit Falcone, 

tortesa, (aside.) 

(She loiters for a kiss ! 
They're all alike ! The same trick woos them all !) 
Come to me, 'Bel ! 

ISABELLA, (coldly.) 

To-morrow at this hour 
You'll find the priest here, and the bridesmaids waiting. 
Till then, adieu! [Exit. 



Hola ! what, gone ? Why, Bella ! 
Sweetheart! I say ! So ! She would coy it with me ! 
Well, well, to-morrow ! 'Tis not long, and kisses 
Pay interest by seconds ! There's a leg ! 
As she stood there, the calf shewed handsomely. 
Faith 'tis a shapely one! I wonder now, 
Which of my points she finds most admirable ! 
Something I never thought on, like as not. 
We do not see ourselves as others see us. 
5 T would not surprise me now, if 'twere my beard—* 
My forehead ! I've a hand indifferent white ! 
Nay, I've been told my waist was neatly turn'd, 
We do not see ourselves as others see us ! 
How goes the hour? I'll home and fit my hose 



70 TORTESA THE USURER. [ACT II. 

To tie trim for the morrow. (Going out.) Hem! the 

door's 
Lofty. I like that ! I will have mine raised. 
Your low door makes one stoop ! [Exit. 



END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



ACT III. 
SCENE I. 

[Angelo discovered in his studio, painting upon the 
picture of Isabella.'] 

ANGELO. 

My soul is drunk with gazing on this face. 

I reel and faint with it. In what sweet world 

Have I traced all its lineaments before? 

I know them. Like a troop of long-lost friends, 

My pencil wakes them with its eager touch, 

And they spring up, rejoicing, Oh, I'll gem 

The heaven of Fame with my irradiate pictures, 

Like kindling planets — but this glorious one 

Shall be their herald, like the evening star, 

First-lit, and lending of its fire to all. 

The day fades — but the lamp burns on within me. 

My bosom has no dark, no sleep, no change 

To dream or calm oblivion. I work on 

When my hand stops. The light tints fade. Good night, 

Fair image of the fairest thing on earth, 

Bright Isabella ! 



72 TORTESA [ACT III. 

(Leans on the rod with which he guides his hand, and 

remains looking at his 'picture.) 

[Enter Tomaso, with two bags of money.'] 

TOMASO. 

For the most excellent painter, Angelo, two hundred 
ducats ! The genius of my master flashes upon me. 
The duke's greeting and two hundred ducats ! If I should 
not have died in my hlindness but for this eye-water, 
may I be hanged, (Looks at Angelo.) He is studying 
his picture. What an air there is about him — lofty, un- 
like the vulgar! Two hundred ducats! (Observes 
Angelo^s hat on the table.) It strikes me now that I 
can see genius in that hat. It is not like a common hat. 
Not like a bought hat. The rim turns to the crown with 
an intelligence. ( Weighs the ducats in his hand.) 
Good heavy ducats. What it is to refresh the vision ! 
I have looked round, ere now, in this very chamber, and 
fancied that the furniture expressed a melancholy dul- 
ness. When he hath talked to me of his pictures, I have 
seen the chairs smile. Nay, as if shamed to listen, the 
very table has looked foolish. Now, all about me ex^ 
presseth a choice peculiarity — as you would say, how like 
a genius to have such chairs ! What a painter-like ta* 
ble ! Two hundred ducats ! 

ANGELO. 

What hast thou for supper ? 

TOMASO. 

Two hundred ducats, my great master I 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 73 

angelo, {absently.) 
A cup of wine! Wine, Tomaso! [Sits down. 

TOMASO. 

(So would the great Donatello have sat upon his chair ! 
His legs thus ! His hand falling thus !) {Aloud.) 
There is nought in the cellar but stale beer, my illustri- 
ous master ! (Now, it strikes me that his shadow is un- 
like another man's — of a pink tinge, somehow — yet that 
may be fancy.) 

ANGELO. 

Hast thou no money ? Get wine, I say ! 

TOMASO. 

I saw the duke in the market-place, who called me An- 
gelo, (we shall rue that trick yet,) and with a gracious 
smile asked me if thou hadst paid the twenty flasks. 

angelo, {not listening.) 
Is there no wine ? 

TOMASO. 

I said to his grace, no ! Pray mark the sequel : In pity 
of my thirst, the duke sends me two — ahem ! — one hun- 
dred ducats. Here they are ! 

ANGELO. 

Didst thou say the wine was on the lees ? 

TOMASO. 

With these fifty ducats we shall buy nothing but wine. 
(He will be rich with fifty.) 

7 



74 TORTESA [ACT III. 

ANGELO. 

What saidst thou ? 

TOMASO. 

I spoke of Uoenty ducats sent thee by the duke. Wilt 
thou firiger them ere one is spent? 

ANGELO. 

I asked thee for wine — I am parched. 

TOMASO. 

Of these ten ducats, think'st thou we might spend one 
for a flask of better quality ? 

ANGELO. 

Lend me a ducat, if thou hast one, and buy wine pre- 
sently. Go ! 

TOMASO. 

I'll lend it thee, willingly, my illustrious master. It is 
my last, but as much mine as thine. 

ANGELO. 

Go! Go! 

TOMASO. 

Yet wait ! There's a scrap of news. Falcone's daugh- 
ter marries Tortesa, the usurer ? To-morrow is the bri- 
dal. 

ANGELO. 

How? 



SCENE I.] THEUSUREE. 75 

TOMASO. 

I learned it in the market-place ! There will be rare 
doings ! 

ANGELO. 

Dog ! Villain ! Thou hast lied ! Thou dar'st not say- 
it ! 

TOMASO. 

Hey ! Art thou mad ? Nay — borrow thy ducat where 
thou canst ! I'll spend that's my own. Adieu, master! 

(E.vit Tomaso, and enter Tortesa with a complacent 
smile.) 

ANGELO. 

Ha ! — well arrived ! (Draws his sword. 

TORTESA. 

Good eve, good Signor Painter. 

ANGELO. 

i You struck me yesterday. 

TORTESA. 

I harmed your picture — 
For which I'm truly sorry — but not you ! 

ANGELO. 

Myself! myself! My picture is myself ! 

What are my bones that rot ? Is this my hand? — 

Is this my eye ? 



76 TORTESA [ACT III 

TORTESA. 

I think so. 

ANGELO. 

No, I say ! 
The hand and eye of Angelo are there ! 
There — there — {Points to his pictures) — immortal ! 

Wound me in the flesh, 
I will forgive you upon fair excuse. 
'Tis the earth round me — 'tis my shell — my house ; 
But in my picture lie my brain and heart — 
My soul — my fancy. For a blow at these 
There's no cold reparation. Draw, and quickly ! 
I'm in the mood to fight it to the death. 
Stand on your guard ! 

TORTESA. 

I will not fight with you. 

ANGELO. 

Coward ! 

TORTESA. 

I'm deaf. 

ANGELO. 

Feel then ! 
(Tortesa catches the blow as he strikes him, and cold-' 
ly flings back his hand.) 

TORTESA. 

Nay, strike me not ! 
I'll call the guard, and cry out like a woman. 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 77 

angelo, {turning from him contemptuously.) 
What scent of dog's meat brought me such a cur! 
It is a whip I want, and not a sword. 

tortesa, (folding his arms.) 
I have a use for life so far above 
The stake you quarrel for, that you may choose 
Your words to please yourself. They'll please me, too. 
Yet you're in luck. I killed a man on Monday 
For spitting on my shadow. Thursday's sun 
Will dry the insult, though it light on me I 

ANGELO. 

Oh, subtle coward ! 

TORTESA. 

I am what you will, 
So I'm alive to marry on the morrow ! 
'Tis well, by Jupiter ! Shall you have power 
With half a breath to pluck from me a wife ! 
Shall I, against a life as poor as yours — 
Mine being precious as the keys of Heaven — 
Set all upon a throw, and no odds neither? 
I know what honor is as well as you! 
I know the weight and measure of an insult — 
What it is worth to take or fling it back. 
I have the hand to fight if I've a mind ; 
And I've a heart to shut my sunshine in, 
And lock it from the scowling of the world, 
Though all mankind cry " Coward !" 
7* 



78 TORTESA [ACT III. 

ANGELO. 

Mouthing braggart ! 

TORTESA. 

I came to see my bride, my Isabella ! 

Show me her picture ! (Advances to look for it.) 

ANGELO. 

Do but look upon 't, 
By heaven's fair light, I'll kill you ! [Draws. 

TORTESA. 

Soft, she's mine ! 
She loves me ! and with that to make life precious, 
I have the nerve to beat back Hercules, 
If you were he ! 

angelo, (attacking him.) 
Out ! Out ! thou shameless liar ! 
tortesa, (retreating on the defence.) 
Thy blows and words fall pointless ! Nay, thou'rt mad ! 
But I'll not harm thee for her picture's sake ! 

ANGELO. 

Liar ! she hates thee ! 

(Beats him off the stage and returns, closing the door 
violently.) 
So ! once more alone! 
(Takes Isabella's picture from the easel, and replaces 

it with Zippa's.) 
Back to the wall, deceitful loveliness ! 
And come forth, Zippa, fair in honest truth ! 



SCENE I.] THE TISUEEE. 79 

I'll make thee beautiful ! 

( Takes his pencil and palette to paint.) 
[A knock is heard.'] 

Who knocks ! come in ! 
\Enter Isabella, disguised as a monk.'] 

ISABELLA. 

Good morrow, signor ! 

angelo, (turning sharply to the monk.) 
There's a face, old monk, 
Might stir your blood — ha ? You shall tell me, now, 
Which of these heavenly features hides the soul ! 
There is one ! I have worked upon the picture 
Till my brain's thick — I cannot see like you. 
Where is't? 

Isabella, (aside.) 
(A picture of the Glover's daughter ! 
What does he, painting her !) Is't for its beauty 
You paint that face, sir? 

ANGELO. 

Yes — th' immortal beauty ! 
Look here ! What see you in that face ? The skin — 

ISABELLA. 

Brown as a vintage-girl's ! 

ANGELO. 

The mouth — 

ISABELLA. 

A good one 
To eat and drink withal ! 



80 TORTESA [ACT III. 

ANGELO. 

The eye is — 

ISABELLA. 

Grey ! 
You'll buy a hundred like it for a penny ! 

ANGELO. 

A hundred eyes? 

ISABELLA. 

No. Hazel-nuts ! 

ANGELO. 

The forehead — 
How find you that? 

ISABELLA. 

Why, made to match the rest ! 
I'll cut as good a face out of an apple — 
For all that's fair in it ! 

ANGELO. 

Oh, heaven, how dim 
Were God's most blessed image did all eyes 
Look on't like thine ! Is't by the red and white — 
Is't by the grain and tincture of the skin — 
Is't by the hair's gloss, or the forehead's arching, 
You know the bright inhabitant? I tell thee 
The. spark of their divinity in some 
Lights up an inward face — so radiant, 
The outward lineaments are like a veil 
Floating before the sanctuary — forgot 
In glimpses of the glory streaming through ! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 81 

Isabella, {mournfully.) 
Is Zippa's face so radiant? 

ANGELO. 

Look upon it ! 
You see thro' all the countenance she's true ! 

ISABELLA. 

True to you, signor! 

ANGELO. 

To herself, old man ! 
Yet once, to me too ! (dejectedly.) 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(Once to him! Can Zippa 
Have dared to love a man like Angelo ! 
I think she dare not. Yet if he, indeed, 
Were the inconstant lover that she told of — 
The youth who was " her neighbor !") Please you, sig- 
nor! 
Was that fair maid your neighbor? 

ANGELO. 

Ay — the best ! 
A loving sister were not half so kind ! 
I never supp'd without her company. 
Yet she was modest as an unsunn'd lily, 
And bounteous as the constant perfume of it. 

Isabella, (aside.) 
('Twas he indeed ! Oh ! what a fair outside 



82 TORTESA [ACT III. 

Has falsehood there ! Yet stay ! If it were / 
Who made him false to her ? Alas, for honor, 
I must forgive him — tho' my lips are weary 
With telling Zippa how I thought him perjured ! 
I cannot trust her more — I'll plot alone !) 
(Turns, and takes her own picture from the wall.) 

ISABELLA. 

What picture's this, turned to the wall, good signor? 

ANGELO. 

A painted lie! 

ISABELLA. 

A lie ! — nay — pardon me ! 
I spoke in haste. Methought 'twas like a lady 
I'd somewhere seen ! — a lady — Isabella { 
But she was true ! 

ANGELO. 

Then 'tis not she I've drawn. 
For that's a likeness of as false a face 
As ever devil did his mischief under. 

ISABELLA. 

And yet methinks 'tis done most lovingly ! 
You must have thought it fair to dwell so on it. 

ANGELO. 

Your convent has the picture of a saint 
Tempted, while praying, by the shape of woman. 
The painter knew that woman was the devil, 
Yet drew her like an angel ! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 83 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(It is true 
He praised my beauty as a painter may — 
No more — in words. He praised me as he drew — 
Feature by feature. But who calls the lip 
To answer for a perjured oath in love ? 
How should love breathe — how not die, choked for ut- 
terance, 
If words were all. He loved me with his eyes. 
He breathed it. Upon every word he spoke 
Hung an unuttered worship that his tongue 
Would spend a life to make articulate. 
Did he not take my hand into his own? 
And, as his heart sprang o'er that bridge of veins, 
Did he not call to mine to pass him on it — 
Each to the other's bosom ! I have sworn 
To love him — wed him — die with him — and yet 
He never heard, me — but he knows it well, 
And, in his heart holds me to answer for it. 
I'll try once more to find this anger out. 
If it be jealousy — why — then, indeed, 
He'll call me black, and I'll forgive it him ! 
For then my errand's done, and I'll away 
To play the cheat out that shall make him mine.) 
(Turns to Angelo.) Fair signor, by your leave, I've 

heard it said 
That in the beauty of a human face 
The God of Nature never writ a lie. 



84 TORTESA L ACT UI * 

ANGELO. 

'Tis likely true ! 

ISABELLA. 

That howsoe'er the features 
Seem fair at first, a blemish on the soul 
Has its betraying speck that warns you of it. 

ANGELO. 

It should be so, indeed ! 

ISABELLA. 

Nay — here's a face 
Will show at once if it be true or no. 
At the first glance 'tis fair ! 

ANGELO. 

Most heavenly fair ! 

ISABELLA. 

Yet, in the lip, methinks, there lurks a shadow — 
Something — I know not what — but in it lies 
The devil you spoke of! 

ANGELO. 

Ay — but 'tis not there ! 
Not in her lip ! Oh, no ! Look elsewhere for it. 
'Tis passionately bright — but lip more pure 
Ne'er passed unchallenged through the gate of heaven. 
Believe me, 'tis not there ! 

ISABELLA. 

How falls the light ? 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 85 

I see a gleam not quite angelical 

About the eye. Maybe the light falls wrong — 

angelo, (drawing her to another position.) 
Stand here ! Dy'e see it now ? 

ISABELLA. 

'Tis just so here ! 
angelo, (sweeps the air with his brush.) 
There's some curst cobweb hanging from the wall 
That blurs your sight. Now, look again ! 

ISABELLA. 

I see it 

Just as before. 

ANGELO. 

What ! still ? You've turn'd an eyelash 
Under the lid. Try how it feels with winking. 
Is't clear? 

ISABELLA. 

'Twas never clearer ! 

ANGELO. 

Then, old man ! 
You'd best betake you to your prayers apace ! 
For you've a failing sight, death's sure forerunner — 
And cannot pray long. Why, that eye's a star, 
Sky-lit as Hesperus, and burns as clear. 
If you e'er marked the zenith at high noon, 
Or midnight, when the blue lifts up to God — 
8 



86 TOETESA [ACT III. 

Her eye 's of that far darkness ! 

Isabella, {smiling aside.) 

Stay — 'tis gone! 
A blur was on my sight, which, passing from it, 
I see as you do. Yes — the eye is clear. 
The forehead only, now I see so well, 
Has in its arch a mark infallible 
Of a false heart beneath it. 

ANGELO. 

Show it to me ! 

ISABELLA. 

Between the eyebrows there ! 

ANGELO. 

I see a tablet 
Whereon the Saviour's finger might have writ 
The new commandment. When I painted it 
I plucked a just-blown lotus from the shade, 
And shamed the white leaf till it seemed a spot — 
The brow was so much fairer ! Go ! old man, 
Thy sight fails fast. Go ! go ! 

ISAEELLA. 

The nostril's small — 
Is'tnot? 

ANGELO. 

No! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 87 

ISABELLA. 

Then the cheek's awry so near it, 
It makes it seem so ! 

ANGELO. 

Oat ! thou cavilling fool ! 
Thou'rt one of those whose own deformity 
Makes all thou seest look monstrous. Go and pray 
For a clear sight, and read thy missal with it. 
Thou art a priest, and livest by the altar, 
Yet dost thou recognize God's imprest seal, 
Set on that glorious beauty ! 

Isabella, (aside.) 

(Oh, he loves me ! 
Loves me as genius loves — ransacking earth 
And ruffling the forbidden flowers of heaven 
To make celestial incense of his praise. 
High-thoughted Angelo ! He loves me well ! 
With what a gush of all my soul I thank him — 
But he's to win yet, and the time is precious.) 
(To Angelo.) Signor, I take my leave. 



Good day, old man ! 
And, if thou com'st again, bring new eyes with thee, 
Or thou wilt find scant welcome. 

ISABELLA. 

You shall like 



88 TORTESA [ACT III. 

These same eyes well enough when next I come ! 

[Exit. 

ANGELO. 

A crabbed monk ! ( Turns thepicture to the wall again.) 

I'll hide this fatal picture 
From sight once more, for till he made me look on't 
I did not know my weakness. Once more, Zippa, 
I'll dwell on thy dear face, and with my pencil 
Make thee more fair than life, and try to love thee ! 

(.4 knock.) 
Come in! 

[Enter Zippa.] 

ZIPPA. 

Good day, Signor Angelo ! 

ANGELO. 

Why, Zippa! is't thou ? is't thou, indeed ! 

ZIPPA. 

Myself, dear Angelo ! 

ANGELO. 



Art well 1 
Ay! 

Hast been well? 
Ay! 



ZIPPA. 



ANGELO. 



ZIPPA. 



SCENE I.] THE US UK ER. 89 

ANGELO. 

Then why, for three long days, hast thou not been near 
me? 

ZIPPA. 

Ask thyself, Signor Angelo ! 

ANGELO. 

I have — a hundred times since I saw thee. 

ZIPPA. 

And there was no answer ? 

ANGELO. 

None! 

ZIPPA. 

Then shouldst thou have ask'd the picture on thy easel ! 

ANGELO. 

Nay — I understand thee not. 

ZIPPA. 

Did I not find thee feasting thy eyes upon it? 

ANGELO. 

True— thou didst ? 

ZIPPA. 

And art thou not enamoured of it— wilt tell me truly ? 

angelo, (smiling.) 
'Tis a fair face! 

ZIPPA. 

Oh, unkind Angelo! 

8* 



90 TORTESA [ACT III. 

ANGELO. 

Look on't ! and, seeing its beauty, if thou dost not for- 
give me, I will never touch pencil to it more. 

ZIPPA. 

I'll neither look on't, nor forgive thee. But if thou 
wilt love the picture of another better than mine, thou 
shalt paint a new one ! 
(As she rushes up to dash it from the easel, Angelo 

catches her arm, and points to the picture. She 

looks at it, and, seeing her own portrait, turns and 

falls on his bosom.) 

My picture ! and I thought thee so false ! Dear, dear 
Angelo ! I could be grieved to have wronged thee, if joy 
would give me time. But thou'lt forgive me ? 

ANGELO. 

Willingly! Willingly! 

ZIPPA. 

And thou lovest me indeed, indeed ! Nay, answer not! 
I will never doubt thee more ! Dear Angelo! 
Yet— {Suddenly turns from Angelo with a troubled air.) 

ANGELO. 

What ails thee now 7 

(Zippa takes a rich veil from under her cloak, throws 
it over her head, and looks on the ground in embar- 
rassed silence.) 

Dost thou stand there for a picture of Silence 1 



SCENE I.] THEUSUEEE. 91 

ZIPPA. 

Alas ! dear Angelo ! When I said I forgave and lov'd 
thee, I forgot that I was to be married to-morrow ! 

ANGELO. 

Married ! to whom 1 

ZIPPA. 

Tortesa, the usurer! 

ANGELO. 

Tortesa, saidst thou ? 

ZIPPA. 

Think not ill of me, dear Angelo, till I have told thee 
all ! This rich usurer, as thou knowest, would for ambi- 
tion marry Isabella de Falcone. 

ANGELO. 

He would, I know. 

ZIPPA. 

But for love, he would marry your poor Zippa. 

ANGELO. 

Know you that ? 

ZIPPA. 

He told me so the day you anger'dme with the praises 
of the court lady you were painting. What was her 
name, Angelo ? 

angelo, {composedly.) 
I— I'll tell thee presently ! Go on ! 



92 TORTESA [ACT HI. 

ZIPPA. 

Well — jealous of this unknown lady, I vow'd, if it 
broke my heart, to wed Tortesa. He had told me Isa- 
bella scorn'd him. I flew to her palace. She heard me, 
pitied me, agreed to plot with me that I might wed the 
usurer, and then told me in confidence that there was a-»- 
poor youth whom she loved and would fain marry. 

angelo, (in breathless anxiety.) 
Heard you his name ? 

ZIPPA. 

No ! But as I was to wed the richer and she the poor- 
er, she took my poor veil, and gave me her rich one. Now 
canst thou read the riddle ? 

angelo, (aside.) 
(A "poor youth!" What if it is I? She "loves and 
will wed him !" Oh ! if it were I !) 

ZIPPA. 

Nay, dear Angelo ! be not so angry ! I do not love 
him ! Nay — thou knowst I do not ! 

angelo, (aside.) 
(It may be — nay — it must ! But I will know ! If not, 
I may as well die of that as of this jealous madness.) 
(Prepares to go out.) 

ZIPPA. 

Angelo ! where go you ? Forgive me, dear Angelo ! 
I swear to thee I love him not ! 



SCENE II.] THE USUEEK. 93 

ANGELO. 

I'll know who that poor youth is, or suspense will kill 
me ! 

{Goes out hastily, without a look at Zippa. She stands 
silent and amazed for a moment.) 

ZIPPA. 

Why cares he to know who that poor youth is ! "Sus- 
pense will kill him ?" Stay ! a light breaks on me ! If 
Isabella were the Court lady whom he painted ! If it 
were Angelo whom she loved ! He is a poor youth ! — 
The picture ! The picture will tell all ! 
(Hurriedly turns round several pictures turned to the 
wall, and last of all, Isabella's. Looks at it an in- 
stant, and exclaims) 

Isabella ! 
(She drops on her knees, overcome with grief and the 
scene closes.) 



SCENE II. 

[A Lady^s dressing-room in the Falcone Pcdace. Isa- 
bella discovered with two phials.'] 

ISABELLA. 

Here is a draught will still the breath so nearly, 
The keenest-eyed will think the sleeper dead, — 
And this kills quite. Lie ready, trusty friends. 



94 TORTESA [ACT 111. 

Close by my bridal veil ! I thought to baffle 
My ruffian bridegroom by an easier cheat; 
But Zippa's dangerous, and if I fail 
In mocking death, why death indeed be welcome ! 
{Enter Zippa angrily.) 

Z1PPA. 

Madam ! 

ISABELLA. 

You come rudely ! 

ZIPPA. 

If I offend you more, I still have cause — 

Yet as the ' : friend" to whom you gave a husband, 

(So kind you were!) I might come unannounced ! 

ISABELLA. 



What is this anger? 



Oh no ! I'm patient ! 



ZIPPA. 

I'm not angry, madam ! 



ISABELLA. 

What's your errand, then ? 

ZIPPA. 

To give you back your costly bridal veil 
And take my mean one. 

ISABELLA. 

'Twas your wish to change. 
'Twas you that plotted we should wed together — 
You in my place, and I in yours — was't not ? 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 95 



Oh, heaven ! you're calm ! Had you no plotting, too? 
You're noble born, and so your face is marble — 
I'm poor, and if my heart aches, 'twill show through. 
You've robb'd me, madam ! 

ISABELLA. 

I? 

ZIPPA. 

Of gold — of jewels ! — 
Gold that would stretch the fancy but to dream of, 
And gems like stars ! 

ISABELLA. 

You're mad ! 

ZIPPA. 

His love was worth them ! 
Oh, what had you to do with Angelo ? 

ISABELLA. 

Nay — came you not to wed Tortesa freely ? 
What should you do with Angelo? 

ZIPPA. 

You mock me ! 
You are a woman, though your brow's a rock, 
And know what love is. In a ring of fire 
The tortured scorpion stings himself, to die — 
But love will turn upon itself, and grow 
Of its own fang immortal ! 



96 TORTESA [ACT III. 



ISABELLA. 

Still, you left him 



To wed another ? 



ZIPPA. 

'Tis for that he's mine ! 
What makes a right in any thing, hut pain 1 
The diver's agony beneath the sea 
Makes the pearl his — pain gets the miser's gold — 
The noble's coronet won first in battle, 
Is his by bleeding for't — and Angelo 
Is ten times mine because I gave him up — 
Crushing my heart to do so ! 

ISABELLA. 

Now you plead 
Against yourself. Say it would kill me quite, 
If you should wed him ? Mine's the greater pain, 
And so the fairer title ! 

zippa, {falling on her k?iees.) 
I implore you 
Love him no more ! Upon my knees I do! 
He's not like you ! Look on your snow-white arms ! 
They're form'd to press a noble to your breast — 
Not Angelo ! He's poor — and fit for mine ! 
You would not lift a beggar to your lips ! — 
You would not lean from your proud palace-stairs 
To pluck away a heart from a poor girl 
Who has no more on earth ! 



SCENE II.] THEUSUKER. 97 

ISABELLA. 

I will not answer ! 

Z1PPA. 

Think what it is ! Love is to you like music — 
Pastime ! You think on't when the dance is o'er — 
When there's no revel — when your hair's unbound. 
And its bright jewels with the daylight pale — 
You want a lover to press on the hours 
That lag till night again ! But I— 

ISABELLA. 

Stop there ! 
I love him better than you've soul to dream of! 

zippa, (rising.) 
'Tis false ! How can you ? He's to you a lamp 
That shines amid a thousand just as bright ! 
What's one amid your crowd of worshippers ? 
The glow-worm's bright — but oh ! 'tis wanton murder 
To raise him to the giddy air you breathe, 
And leave his mate in darkness ! 

ISABELLA. 

Say the worm 
Soar from the earth on his own wing — what then ? 

ZIPPA. 

Fair reasons cannot stay the heart from breaking. 
You've stol'n my life, and you can give it back ! 
Will you— for heaven's sweet pity ? 
9 



98 TOBTESA [ACT III. 

ISABELLA. 

Leave my presence ! 
(Aside.) (I pity her— but on this fatal love 
Hangs my life, too.) What right have such as you 
To look with eyes of love on Angelo ? 

ZIPPA. 

What right ? 

ISABELLA. 

I say so. Where's the miracle 
Has made you fit to climb into the sky — 
A moth — and look with love upon a star ! 

zippa, (mournfully.) 
I'm lowly born, alas ! 

ISABELLA. 

Your souVs low born ! 
Forget your anger and come near me, Zippa, 
For e'er I'm done you'll wonder ! Have you ever, 
When Angelo was silent, mark'd his eye — 
How, of a sudden, as 'twere touch'd with fire, 
There glows unnatural light beneath the lid ? 

ZIFPA. 

I have — I've thought it strange ! 

ISABELLA. 

Have you walk'd with him 
When he has turn'd his head, as if to list 
To music in the air— but you heard none — 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 99 

And presently a smile stole through his lips, 
And some low words, inaudible to you, 
Fell from him brokenly. 

ZIPPA. 

Ay — many times'. 

ISABELLA. 

Tell me once more ! Hast never heard him speak 
With voice unlike his own — so melancholy, 
And yet so sweet a voice, that, were it only 
The inarticulate moaning of a bird, 
The very tone of it had made you weep ? 

ZIPPA. 

'Tis strangely true, indeed ! 

ISABELLA. 

Oh heaven ! You say so — 
Yet never dreamt it was a spirit of light 
Familiar with you ! 

ZIPFA. 

How? 

ISABELLA. 

Why, there are seraphs 
Who walk this common world, and want, as we do — 
Here, in our streets — all seraph, save in wings — 
The look, the speech, the forehead like a god — 
And he the brightest ! 

zippa, {incredulously.) 

Nay — I've known him long ! 



100 TORIES A [ACT III. 

ISABELLA. 

Why, listen ! There are worlds, thou doubting fool ! 
Farther to flee to than the stars in heaven, 
Which Angelo can walk as we do this — 
And does — while you look on him ! 

ZIPPA. 

Angelo ! 

ISABELLA. 

He's never at your side one constant minute 
Without a thousand messengers from thence ! 
(O block! to live with him, and never dream on't !) 
He plucks the sun's rays open like a thread, 
And knows what stains the rose and not the lily — 
He never sees a flower but he can tell 
Its errand on the earth — (they all have errands — 
You knew not that, oh dulness !) He sees shapes 
Flush'd with immortal beauty in the clouds — 
(You've seen him mock a thousand on his canvass. 
And never wonder'd !) Yet you talk of love ! 
What love you ? 

ZIPPA. 

Angelo — and not a dream ! 
Take you the dream and give me Angelo ! 
You may talk of him till my brain is giddy — 
But oh, you cannot praise him out of reach 
Of my true heart. — He's here, as low as I ! — 
Shall he not wed a woman, flesh and blood % 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 101 

ISABELLA. 

See here ! There was a small, earth-creeping mole, 

Born by the low nest of an unfledged lark. 

They lived an April youth amid the grass — 

The soft mole happy, and the lark no less, 

And thought the bent sky leaned upon the flowers. 

By early May the fledgling got his wings ; 

And, eager for the light, one breezy dawn, 

Sprang from his nest, and buoyantly away, 

Fled forth to meet the morning. Newly born 

Seem'd the young lark, as in another world 

Of light, and song, and creatures like himself, 

He soar'd and dropp'd, and sang unto the sun, 

And pitied every thing that had not wings — 

But most the mole, that wanted even eyes 

To see the light he floated in ! 

ZIPPA. 

Yet still 
She watch'd his nest, and fed him when he came — 
Would it were Angelo and I indeed ! 

ISABELLA. 

Nay, mark ! The bird grew lonely in the sky. 
There was no echo at the height he flew ! 
And when the mist lay heavy on his wings 
His son 5 broke, and his flights were brief and low — 
And the dull mole, that should have sorrowed with him, 
Joy'd that he sang at last where she could hear! 
9* 



102 TORTESA [" ACT II1, 

ZIPPA. 

Why, happy mole again I 

ISABELLA. 

Not long ! — for soon 
He found a mate that loved him for his wings ? 
One who with feebler flight, but eyes still on him, 
Caught up his dropp'd song in the middle air, 
And, with the echo, cheered him to the sun ! 

zippa, (aside.) 
(I see ! I see ! His soul was never mine ! 
I was the blind mole of her hateful story ! 
No, no ! he never loved me ! True, we ate, 
And laugh'd, and danced together — but no love — 
He never told his thought when he was sad ! 
His folly and his idleness were mine — 
No more ! The rest was lock'd up in his soul ! 
I feel my heart grow black !) Fair madam, thank you t 
You've told me news ! (She shall not have him neither, 
If there's a plot in hate to keep him from her ! 
I must have room to think, and air to breathe — 
I choke here !) Madam, the blind mole takes leave ! 

ISABELLA. 

Farewell ! {Exit Zippa. 

(Takes the phial from the table.) 

And now, come forth, sweet comforter ! 
I'll to my chamber with this drowsy poison, 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 103 

And from my sleep I wake up Angelo's, 

Or wake no more ! [Exit. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 

[ii sumptuous Drawing-room in the Falcone Palace. 
Guests assembled for the bridal. Lords and ladies 
promenading, and a band of musicians in a gallery 
at the side of the stage.'] 

1st. LORD. 
Are we before, the hour ? or does the bridegroom 
Affect this tardiness ? 

2d. LORD. 

We're bid at twelve. 

1st. LORD. 

'Tis now past one. At least we should have music 
To wile the time. (To the musicians.) Strike up, good 
fellows ! 

2d. LORD. 

Why, 
A man who's only drest on holidays 
Makes a long toilet. Now, I'll warrant he 
Has vex'd his tailor since the break of day 
Hoping to look a gentleman. D'ye know him ? 



SCENE I.] TORTESA THE USURER. 105 

1st. LORD. 

I've never had occasion ! 

2d. LORD. 

Poor Falcone ! 
He'd give the best blood in his veins, I think, 
To say as much ! 

1st. LORD. 

How's this ! I see no stir 
Among the instruments. Will they not play ? 

2d. LORD. 

Not they! I ask'd before you, and they're bid 
To strike up when they hear Tortesa's horses 
Prance thro' the gateway — not a note till then ! 

{Music plays.) 

1st. LORD. 
He comes ! 

(Enter Tortesa, dressed over-richly.) 

TORTESA. 

Good day, my lords ! 

1st. LORD, 

Good day ! 

2d. LORD. 

The sky 
Smiles on you, Signor ! 'Tis a happy omen 
They say, to wed in sunshine. 



106 TORTESA [ACT IV. 

TORTESA. 

Why, I think 
The sun is not displeased that I should wed. 

1st. LORD. 
We're happy, Sir, to have you one of us. 

TORTESA. 

What have I been till now ! I was a man 
Before I saw your faces ! Where's the change ? 
Have I a tail since ? Am I grown a monkey ? 

{Lords whisper together, and walk from him.) 
Oh for a mint to coin the world again 
And melt the mark of gentleman from clowns ! 
It puts me out o£ patience ! Here's a fellow 
That, by much rubbing against better men, 
Has, like a penny in a Jew's close pocket, 
Stolen the color of a worthier coin, 
And thinks he rings like sterling courtesy ! 
Yet look! he cannot phrase you a good morrow, 
Or say he's sad, or glad, at any thing, 
But close beneath it, rank as verdigrease, 
Lies an insulting rudeness ! He was "happy" 
That I should now be one of them. Now ! Now! 
As if, till ?ioio, I'd been a dunghill grub, 
And was but just turn' J butterfly ! 

(A Lady advances.) 

LADY. 

Fair Sir, 
I must take leave to say, were you my brother, 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 107 

You've made the choice that would have pleas'd me best ! 
Your bride's as good as fair. 

TORTESA. 

I thank you, Madam ! 
To be your friend, she should be — good aud fair ! 
( The Lady turns, and walks up the stage.) 
How like a drop of oil upon the sea 
Falls the apt word of woman ! So ! her "brother !" 
Why, there could be no contumely there ! 
I might, for all I look, have been her brother, 
Else her first thought had never coupled us. 
ril pluck some self-contentment out of that \ 

{Enter suddenly the Count's Secretary.) 
How now ! 

SECRETARY. 

I'm sent, Sir, with unwelcome tidings. 

TORTESA. 

Deliver them the quicker ! 

SECRETARY. 

I shall be 
Too sudden at the slowest. 

TORTESA. 

Pshaw! what is't? 
I'm not a girl ! Out with your news at once ! 
Are my ships lost ? 

secretary, (hesitatingly.) 

The lady Isabella— 



108 TOETESA [ACT IV. 

TORTESA. 

What ? run away ! 

SECRETARY. 

Alas, good Sir ! she's dead ! 

TORTESA. 

Bah ! just as dead as I ! Why. thou dull blockhead ! 
Cannot a lady faint, but there must be 
A trumpeter like thee to make a tale on't ? 

SECRETARY. 

Pardon me, Signor, but — 

TORTESA. 

Who sent you hither ? 

SECRETARY. 

My lord the Count. 

tortesa, (turning quickly aside.) 
He put it in the bond, 
That if by any humor of my own, 
Or accident that sprang not from himself 
Or from, his daughter's will, the match were marr'd, 
His tenure stood intact. If she were dead — 
I don't believe she is — but if she were, 
By one of those strange chances that do happen — 
If she were dead, I say, the silly fish 
That swims with safety among hungry sharks 
To run upon the pin-hook of a boy, 
Might teach me wisdom ! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 109 

(The Secretary comes forward, narrating eagerly to 
the company.) 

Now, what says this jackdaw ? 

SECRETARY. 

She had refused to let her bridesmaids in — 

LADY. 

And died alone 1 

SECRETARY. 

A trusty serving maid 
Was with her, and none else. She dropp'd away, 
The girl said, in a kind of weary sleep. 

1st. LORD. 
Was no one told of it ? 

SECRETARY. 

The girl watch'd by her, 
Aud thought she slept still ; till, the music sounding. 
She shook her by the sleeve, but got no answer; 
And so the truth broke on her ! 

tortesa, (aside.) 

(Oh indeed ! 
The plot is something shallow!) 

2d. LORD. 

Might we go 

And see her as she lies ? 

10 



110 TORTESA t ACT IV « 

SECRETARY. 

The holy father 
Who should have married her, has check'd all comers. 
And staying for no shroud but bridal dress, 
He bears her presently to lie in state 
In the Falcone chapel. 

tortesa. (aside.) 

(Worse and worse— 
They take me for a fool !) 

1st. LORD. 

But why such haste ? 

secretary. 

I know not. 

All. 

Let us to the chapel ! 

tortesa. 

(Drawing his sword, and stepping between them and 

the door.) 

Hold! 

Let no one try to pass ! 

1st. LORD. 

What mean you, Sir ! 

TORTESA. 

To keep you here till you have got your story 
Pat to the tongue — the truth on't, and no more ! 

LADY. 

Have you a doubt the bride is dead, good Signor 1 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. Ill 



A palace, see you, has a tricky air ! 
When I am told a tradesman's daughter's dead, 
I know the coffin holds an honest corse, 
Sped, in sad earnest, to eternity. 
But were I stranger in the streets to-day, 
And heard that an ambitious usurer, 
With lands and money having bought a lady 
High-born and fair, she died before the bridal, 
I would lay odds with him that told me of it 
She'd rise again — before the resurrection. 
So stand back all ! If I'm to fill to-day 
The pricking ears of Florence with a lie, 
The bridal guests shall tell the tale so truly, 
And mournfully, from eyesight of the corse,' 
That ev'n the shrewdest listener shall believe, 
And I myself have no misgiving of it. 
Look ! where they come ! 

{Door opens to funereal music, and the body of Isa- 
bella is borne in, preceded by a monk, and followed 
by Falcone and mourners. Tortesa confronts the 
Monk.) 

What's this you bear away ? 

MONK. 

Follow the funeral, but stay it not. 



If thereon lie the lady Isabella, 

I ask to see her face before she pass! 



112 TORTESA [ACT IV. 

MONK. 

Stand from the way, my son, it cannot be ! 

TORTESA. 

What right have you to take me for a stone ? 

See what you do ! I stand a bridegroom here. 

A moment since the joyous music playing 

Which promised me a fair and blushing bride. 

The flowers are fragrant, and the guests made welcome ; 

And while my heart beats at the opening door, 

And eagerly I look to see her come, — 

There enters in her stead a covered corse ! 

And when I ask to look upon her face — 

One look, before my bride is gone for ever, — 

You find it in your hearts to say me nay ! — 

Shame ! Shame ! 

falcone, {fiercely.) 
Lead on ! 

TORTESA. 

My lord, by covenant — 
By contract writ and seal'd — by value rendered — 
By her own promise — nay, by all, save taking, 
This body's mine ! I'll have it set down here 
And wait my pleasure ! See it done, my lord, 
Or I will, for you ! 

monk, (to the bearers.) 
Set the body down ! 
tortesa, (takes the veil from the face.) 
Come hither all ! Nay, father, look not black ! 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 113 

If o'er the azure temper of this blade 

There come no mist, when laid upon her lips, 

I'll do a penance for irreverence, 

And fill your sack with penitential gold ! 

Look well ! 

{Puts his sword blade to Isabella's lips, and after 

watching it with intense inter est a moment, drops on 

his knees beside the bier.) 

She's dead indeed ! Lead on ! 
( The procession starts again to funereal music, and 
Tortesa follows last.) 



SCENE II. 

[^4 Street in Florence. The funereal music dying 
away in the distance. Enter Zippa, straining her 
eyes to look after it.] 

ZIPPA. 

'Tis Angelo that follows close behind, 

Laying his forehead almost on her bier ! 

His heart goes with her to the grave ! Oh Heaven ! 

Will not Tortesa pluck out of his hand 

The tassel of that pall ? 

( She hears a footstep.) 

Stay, stay, he's here ! 

(Enter Tortesa, musing. Zippa stands aside.) 
10* 



114 TORTESA [ACT IV. 

TORTESA. 

I've learned to-day a lord may be a Jew, 
I've learned to-day that grief may kill a lady ; 
Which touches me the most I cannot say, 
For I could fight Falcone for my loss 
Or weep, with all my soul, for Isabella. 

(Zippa touches him on the shoulder.) 

ZIPPA. 

How is't the Signor follows not his bride ? 

TORTESA. 

I did — but with their melancholy step 
I fell to musing, and so dropp'd behind — 
But here's a sight I have not seen to-day ! 
( Takes her hand smilingly.) 

ZIPPA. 

What's that? 

TORTESA. 

A friendly face, my honest Zippa ! 
Art well? What errand brings thee forth? 

ZIPPA. 

None, Signor ! 
But passing by the funeral, I stopped, 
Wondering to see the bridegroom lag behind, 
And give his sacred station next the corse 
To an obtrusive stranger. 

TORTESA. 

Which is he? 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 115 

zippa , (points after Angelo.) 
Look there ! 

TORTESA. 

His face is buried in his cloak. 
Whois't? 

ZIPPA. 

Not know him? Had I half the cause 
That you have, to see through that mumming cloak, 
The shadow of it would speak out his name ! 

TORTESA. 

What mean you? 

ZIPPA. 

Angelo ! What right has he 
To weep in public at her funeral? 

TORTESA. 

The painter ? 

ZIPPA. 

Ay — the peasant Angelo ! 
Was't not enough to dare to love her living, 
But he must fling the insult of his tears 
Betwixt her corse and you ? Are you not mov'd ? 
Will you not go and pluck him from your place ? 

TORTESA. 

No, Z ippa ! for my spirits are more apt 
To grief than anger. I've in this half hour 
Remember' d much I should have thought on sooner, — 



116 TORTESA [ACT IV. 

For, had I known her heart was capable 

Of breaking for the love of one so low, 

I would have done as much to make her his 

As I have done, in hate, to make her mine. 

She lov'd him, Zippa ! ( Walks back in thought.) 

zippa, (aside.) 
Oh to find a way 
To pluck that fatal beauty from his eyes ! 
'Tis twilight, and the lamp is lit above her, 
And Angelo will watch the night out there, 
Gazing with passionate worship on her face. 
But no ! he shall not ! 

tortesa, (advancing.) 
Come ! what busy thought 
Vexes your brain now ? 

ZIPPA. 

Were your pride as quick 
As other men's to see an insult, Signor! 
I had been spared the telling of my thought. 

TORTESA. 

You put it sharply ! 

ZIPPA. 

Listen ! you are willing 
That there should follow, in your place of mourner, 
A youth, who, by the passion of his grief 
Shews to the world he's more bereaved than you ! 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 117 

TORTESA. 

Humph ! well ! 

ZIPPA. 

Still follows he without rebuke ; 
And in the chapel where she lies to-night, 
Her features bared to the funereal lamp, 
He'll, like a mourning bridegroom, keep his vigil, 
As if all Florence knew she was his own. 

TORTESA. 

Nay, nay ! he may keep vigil if he will ! 
The door is never lock'd upon the dead 
Till bell and mass consign them to the tomb ; 
And custom gives the privilege to all 
To enter in and pray — and so may he. 

ZIPPA. 

Then learn a secret which I fain had spared 
My lips the telling. Question me not how, 
But I have chanced to learn, that Angelo, 
To-night, will steal the body from its bier ! 

TORTESA. 

To-night ! What ! Angelo! Nay, nay, good Zippa ! 

If he's enamoured of the corse, 'tis there — 

And he may watch it till its shape decay, 

And holy church will call it piety. 

But he who steals from consecrated ground, 

Dies, by the law of Florence. There's no end 

To answer in't. 



118 TORTESA [ACT IV. 

ZIPPA. 

You know not, Angelo ! 
You think not with what wild, delirious passion 
A painter thirsts to tear the veil from beauty. 
He painted Isabella as a maid, 
Coy as a lily turning from the sun. 
Now she is dead, and, like a star that flew 
Flashing and hiding thro' some fleecy rack, 
But suddenly sits still in cloudless heavens, 
She slumbers fearless in his steadfast gaze. 
Peerless and unforbidding. O, to him 
She is no more your bride! A statue fairer 
Than ever rose enchanted from the stone, 
Lies in that dim-lit chapel, clad like life. 
Are you too slow to take my meaning yet ? 
He cannot loose the silken boddice there ! 
He cannot, there^ upon the marble breast 
Shower the dark locks from the golden comb ! 

TORTESA. 

Hold! 

ZIPPA. 

Are you mov'd? Has he no end to compass 
In stealing her away from holy ground? 
Will you not lock your bride up from his touch ? 

TORTESA. 

No more ! no more ! I thought not of all this ! 
Perchance it is not true. But twilight falls, 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 119 

And I will home to doff this bridal gear, 
And, after, set a guard upon the corse. 
We'll walk together. Come ! 

zipfa, (aside.) 
(He shall not see her !) 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 

[A Street in front of the Falcone Palace. Night. En- 
ter Isabella in her white bridal dress. She falters 
to her father's door, and drops exhausted.'] 

ISABELLA. 

My brain swims round ! I'll rest a little here ! 
The night's cold, chilly cold. Would I could reach 
The house of Angelo ! Alas ! I thought 
He would have kept one night of vigil near me, 
Thinking me dead. Bear up, good heart ! Alas ! 
I faint ! Where am I ? (Looks around.) 

'Tis my father's door. 
My undirected feet have brought me home — 
And I must in, or die ! (Knocks with a painful effort.) 
So ends my dream ! 

falcone, (from above.) 
Who's that would enter to a mourning house? 



120 TOBTESA [ACT IV. 

ISABELLA. 

Your daughter ! 

FALCONE. 

Ha ! what voice is that I hear 1 

ISABELLA. 

Poor Isabella's. 

FALCONE. 

Art thou come to tell me, 
That with unnatural heart I killed my daughter ? 
Just Heaven ! thy retribution follows fast ! 
But oh, if holy and unnumbered masses 
Can give thee rest, perturb'd and restless spirit ! 
Haunt thou a weeping penitent no more ! 
Depart ! I'll in, and pass the night in prayer ! 
So shalt thou rest ! Depart ! 

{He closes the window, and Isabella drops with her 
forehead to the marble stair.) 

{Enter Tomaso, with a bottle in his hand.) 

TOMASO. 

It's like the day after the deluge. Few stirring and no- 
body dry. I've been since twilight looking for somebo- 
dy that would drink. Not a beggar athirst in all Flo- 
rence ! I thought that, with a bottle in my hand, I should 
be scented like a wild boar. I expected drunkards would 
have come up out of the ground — like worms in a show- 
er. When was /ever so difficult to find by a moist friend % 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 121 

Two hundred ducats in good wine and no companion ! 
I'll look me up a dry dog. I'll teach him to tipple, and 
give up the fellowship of mankind 

Isabella, {faintly.) 
Signor ! 

T0MAS0. 

Hey! What! 

ISABELLA. 

Help Signor ! 

TOMASO^ 

A woman ! Ehem ! (approaching her.) Would you 
take something to drink by any chance 1 (Offers her the 
bottle.) No ? Perhaps you don't like to drink out of the 
bottle. 

ISABELLA. 

I perish of cold ! 

TOMASO. 

Stay ! Here's a cloak ! My master's out for the 
night, and you shall home with me. Come ! Perhaps 
when you get warmer, you'd like to drink a little. The 
wine's good ! (Assists her in rising,) By St. Gene- 
vieve, a soft hand ! Come ! I'll bring you where there's 
fire and a clean flagon. 

ISABELLA. 

To any shelter, Signor ! 



11 



122 TORTESA THE USURER. [ACT IV. 

TOMASO. 

Shelter ! nay, a good house, and two hundred ducats 
in ripe wine. Steady now ! (This shall pass for a good 
action ! If my master smell a rat, I'll face him out the 
woman's honest!) This way, now! Softly! That's 
well stepp'd ! Come ! 

( Goes oitt, assisting her to walk.) 



END OP THE FOURTH ACT. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. 

[Angelo's Studio. A full-length picture, in a large 
frame, stands on the floor against an easel, placed 
nearly in the centre of the room. Two curtains, so 
arranged as to cover the picture when drawn togeth- 
er. Angelo stands in an imploring attitude near 
the picture, his 'pencil and palette in his hands, ap- 
pealing to Isabella, who is partly turned from him 
in an attitude of refusal. The hack wall of the 
room such as to form a natural ground for a pic- 
ture.'] 

ANGELO. 

Hear me, sweet ! 

ISABELLA, 

No, we'll keep a holiday, 

And waste the hours in love and idleness. 

You shall not paint to-day, dear Angelo ! 

ANGELO. 

But listen ! 



124 TORTESA [ACT V. 

ISABELLA. 

Nay, I'm jealous of my picture ; 

For all you give to that is stol'n from me. 

I like not half a look that turns away 

Without an answer from the eyes it met ! 

I care not you should see my lips' bright color 

Yet wait not for the breath that floats between I 

ANGELO. 

Wilt listen ? 

ISABELLA. 

Listen 1 Yes ! a thousand years ! 
But there's a pencil in those restless fingers, 
Which you've a trick of touching to your lips — 
And while you talk, my hand would do as well ! 
And if it's the same tale you told before 
Of certain vigils you forgot to keep, 
Look deep into my eyes till it is done — 
For, like the childen's Lady-in-the-well, 
I only hark because you're looking in ! 
Will you talk thus to me 1 

ANGELO. 

Come night I will ! 
But close upon thy voice, sweet Isabella ! 
A boding whisper sinks into mine ear 
Which tells of sudden parting ! If 'tis false,— 
We shall have still a lifetime for our love, 
But if 'tis true, oh think that, in my picture, 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 125 

Will lie the footprint of an angel gone ! 
Let me but make it clearer ! 

ISABELLA. 

Now, by heaven ! 
I think thou lov'st the picture, and not me ! 
So different am I, that, did I think 
To lose thee presently, by death or parting, 
For thy least word, or look, or slightest motion — 
Nay, for so little breath as makes a sigh 
I would not take, to have it pass untreasured, 
The empire of a star ! 
( While she was uttering' this reproach, Angelo has 

looked at her with delight, and touched his portrait 

with a few rapid strokes.) 

angelo. 

My picture's done ! 
( Throws his pencil to the ground.) 
Break, oh enchanted pencil ! thou wilt never 
On earth, again, do miracle so fair! 
Oh Isabella ! as the dusky ore 
Waits for the lightning's flash to turn to gold — 
As the dull vapor waits for Hesperus, 
Then falls in dew-drops, and reflects a star — 
So waited I that fire upon thy lips, 
To make my master-piece complete in beauty ! 

ISABELLA. 

This is ambition when I look'd for love, 
11* 



126 TORTESA [ACT V. 

The fancy flattering where the heart should murmur. 
I think you have no heart ! 

ANGELO. 

Your feet are on it ! 
The heart is ever lowly with the fortunes, 
Tho' the proud mind sits level with a king ! 
I gave you long ago both heart and soul, 
But only one has dared to speak to you ! 
Yet, if astonishment will cure the dumb, 
Give it a kiss — 

Isabella, (smiling.) 
Lo ! Where it speaks at last ! 
(A hud knock is heard.) 
Hark, Angelo! 

(lie flies to the window, and looks out.) 

ANGELO. 

Tortesa with a guard ! 
Alas ! that warning voice ! They've traced thee hither ! 
Lost! Lost! 

Isabella, (Hastily drawing the curtain, and disappearing 
behind it.) 

No ! no ! defend thy picture only, 
And all is well yet ! 

ANGELO. 

Thee and it with life ! 
(Draws his sword, and stands before the curtain in an atti- 
tude of defiance. Enter Tortesa % with officers and guard.) 
What is your errand ? 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 127 

TORTESA. 

I'm afraid, a sad one ! 
For, by your drawn sword and defying air, 
Your conscious thought foretells it. 

ANGELO. 

Why, — a blow — 
(You took one, Signor, when you last were here — 
If you've forgot it, well !) — but, commonly, 
The giver of a blow needs have his sword 
Promptly in hand. You'll pardon me ! 

TORTESA. 

I do! 
For, if my fears are just, good Signor painter ! 
You've not a life to spare upon a quarrel ! 
In brief, the corse of a most noble lady 
Was stol'n last night from holy sanctuary. 
I have a warrant here to search your house ; 
And, should the body not be found therein, 
I'm bid to see the picture of the lady — 
Whereon, (pray mark me !) if I find a trace 
Of charms fresh copied, more than may beseem 
The modest beauty of a living maid, 
I may arrest you on such evidence 
For instant trial! 

ANGELO. 

Search my house and welcome! 
But, for my picture, tho' a moment's glance 



128 TORTESA [ACT V. 

Upon its pure and hallowed loveliness 
Would give the lie to your foul thought of me, 
It is the unseen virgin of ray brain ! 
And as th' inviolate person of a maid 
Is sacred ev'n in presence of the law, 
My picture is ray own — to bare or cover ! 
Look on it at your peril ! 

tortesa, (to the guard.) 

Take his sword. 
( The guards attack and disarm him.) 

ANGELO. 

Coward and villain ! 

( Tortesa parts the curtains ivith his sword, and An- 
gelo starts amazed to see Isabella, with her hands 
crossed on her breast, and her eyes fixed on the ground, 
standing motionless in the frame which had contain- 
ed his picture. The tableau deceives Tortesa, who 
steps back to contemplate what he supposes to be 
the portrait of his bride.) 

TORTESA. 

Admirable work! 
'Tis Isabella's self! Why, this is wondrous ! 
The brow, the lip, the countenance — how true ! 
I would have sworn that gloss upon the hair, 
That shadow from the lash, were nature's own — 
Impossible to copy ! (Looks at it a moment in silence.) 

Yet methinks 
The color on the cheek is something faint! 



SCENE I.] THE USURER. 129 

angelo, (hurriedly.) 
Step this way farther ! 
tortesa, (changing his position.) 
Ay — 'tis better here ! 
The hand is not as white as Isabella's — 
But painted to the life ! If there's a feature 
That I would touch again, the lip, to me, 
Seems wanting in a certain scornfulness 
Native to her ! It scarcely marr'd her beauty. 
Perhaps 'tis well slurr'd over in a picture I 
Yet stay ! I see it, now I look again! 
How excellently well ! 

(Guards return from searching the house.) 
"What ! found you nothing ? 

soldier, (holding up Isabella's veil.) 
This bridal veil— no more. 

angelo, (despairingly.) 
Oh ! luckless star ! 

tortesa. 
Signor ! you'll trust me when I say I'm sorry 
With all my soul ! This veil, I know it well — 
Was o'er the face of that unhappy lady 
When laid in sanctuary. You are silent ! 
Perhaps you scorn to satisfy me here ! 
I trust you can — in your extremity ! 
But I must bring you to the Duke ! Lead on ! 



130 TORTESA [ACT V. 

ANGELO. 

An instant ! 

tortesa, (courteously.') 
At your pleasure ! 

ANGELO, (to Isabella, as lie passes close to her.) 
I conjure you. 
By all our love, stir not ! 

Isabella, (still motionless.) 
Farewell ! 

(Tortesa motions for Angelo to precede him with the guard, 
looks once more at the picture, and with a gesture expres- 
sive of admiration, follows. As the door closes, Isabella 
steps from the frame.) 

ISABELLA. 

I'll Mow 
Close on thy steps, beloved Angelo ! 
And find a way to bring thee home again ! 
My heart is light, and hope speaks cheerily ! 
And lo ! bright augury ! — a friar's hood 
For my disguise ! Was ever omen fairer ! 
Thanks ! my propitious star ! 

(Envelopes herself in the hood, and goes out hastily.) 



SCENE II.] THETJSUKER. 131 

SCENE II. 

[A Street. Enter Tcmaso, with his fiat crushed and pulled 
suikily over his eyes, his clothes dirty on one side, and 
other marks of having slept in the street. Enter Zippa 
from the other side, meeting him.'] 

ZIPPA. 

Tomaso! Is'tthou? Whereas Angelo? 

TOMASO. 

It is I, and I don't know ! 

ZIPPA. 

Did he come home last night ? 

TOMASO. 

" Did he come home !" Look (here ! (Pulls off his hat, 
and shews his dirty side.) 

ZIPPA. 

Then thou hast slept in the street I 

TOMASO. 

Ay! 

ZIPPA. 

And what has that to do with the coming home of An- 
gelo ? 

TOMASO. 

What had thy father to do with thy having such a nose 
as his 1 



132 TORTESA [ACT V. 

(Zippa holds up a ducat to him.) 
What ! gave thy mother a ducat ? — cheap as dirt ! 

ZIFPA. 

Blockhead, no ! I'll give thee the ducat if thou wilt tell 
me, straight on, what thou know'st of Angelo ! 

TOMASO. 

I will — and thou shalt see how charity is rewarded. 



Begin ! — begin ! 

TOMASO. 

Last night, having pray'd later than usual at vespers — 

ZIPPA. 

Ehem ! 

TOMASO. 

I was coming home in a pious frame of mind — 

ZIPPA. 

And a bottle in thy pocket. 

TOMASO. 

No! — m my hand. What should I stumble over 

ZIPPA. 

But a stone. 

TOMASO. 

A woman ! 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 133 

ZIPPA. 

Fie ! what's this you're going to tell me? 

T0MAS0. 

She was dying with cold. Full of Christian charity — 

ZIPPA. 

And new wine. 

TOMASO. 

Old wine, Zippa ! The wine was old ! 

ZIPPA. 

Well! 

TOMASO. 

I took her home. 

ZIPPA. 

Shame ! — at thy years 1 

TOMASO. 

And Angelo being out for the night 

ZIPPA. 

There ! there ! you may skip the particulars. 

TOMASO. 

I say my own bed being in the garret 

ZIPPA. 

Well, well! 

TOMASO. 

I put her into Angelo's. 

12 



134 TORTESA [ACT V. 

ZIPPA. 

Oh, unspeakable impudence ! Didst thou do that ? 

TOMASO. 

I had just left her to make a wine posset, (for she was 
well nigh dead), when in popped my master, — finds her 
there — asks no questions, — kicks me into the street, and 
locks the door ! There's the reward of virtue ! 

ZIPPA. 

Did he not turn out the woman, too ? 

TOMASO. 

Not as I remember. 

ZIPPA. 

Oh worse and worse ! And thou hast not seen him 
since 1 

TOMASO. 

I found me a soft stone, r said my prayers, and went 
to sleep. 

ZIPPA. 

And hast thou not seen him to-day? 

TOMASO. 

Partly, I have ! 

ZIPPA. 

Where ? Tell me quickly ! 

TOMASO. 

Give me the ducat. 



SCENE II.] THE USURER. 135 

zippa, (gives it him.) 
Quick ! say on ! 

TOMASO. 

I have a loose recollection, that, lying on that stone, 
Angelo called me by name. Looking up, I saw two 
Angelos, and two Tortesas, and soldiers with two 
spears each. (He figures in the air with his finger as if 
trying to remember.) 

zippa, (aside.) 
(Ha ! he is apprehended for the murder of Isabella ! 
Say that my evidence might save his life ! Not unless 
he love me !) Which way went he, Tomaso? 
( Tomaso points,) 
This way? (Then has he gone to be tried before the 
Duke.) Come with me, Tomaso ! Come. 

TOMASO. 

Where? 

ZIPPA. 

To the Duke's palace! Come! (Takes his arm.) 

TOMASO. 

To the Duke's palace ? There'll be kicking of heels in 
the ante-chamber ! — Dry work ! I'll spend thy ducat as 
we go along. Shall it be old wine, or new ? 

[Exeunt. 



136 TORTESA |" ACT V. 

SCENE III. 

\Hall of Judgment in the Ducal Palace. The Duke upon 
a raised throne on the left. Falcone near his chair, and 
Angelo on the opposite side of the stage with a guard. 
Isabella behind the guard, disguised as a monk. Torle- 
sa stands near the centre of the stage, and Zippa and 
Tomaso in the left corner ', listening eagerly. Counsellors 
at a table, and crowd of spectators at the sides and rear.~\ 

DUKE. 

Are there more witnesses 1 

COUNSELLOR. 

No more, my liege ! 

DUKE. 

None for the prisoner ? 

COUNSELLOR. 

He makes no defence 
Beyond a firm denial. 

FALCONE. 

Is there wanting 
Another proof, my liege, that he is guilty ? 

DUKE. 

I fear he stands in deadly peril, Count. 
{To the Counsellor.) Sum up the evidence. 
{He reads.) 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 137 

COUNSELLOR. 

'Tis proved, my liege, 
That for no honest or sufficient end, 
The pris'ner practised on your noble Grace 
And Count Falcone a contriv'd deceit, 
Whereby he gain'd admittance to the lady. 

(Tomaso exhibits signs of alarm.) 

DUKE. 

Most true ! 

COUNSELLOR. 

That, till the eve before her death, 
He had continual access to the palace ; 
And, having grown enamoured of the bride, 
Essay'd by plots that never were matured, 
And quarrels often forced on her betrothed, 
To stay the bridal. That, against the will 
Of her most noble father and the Duke, 
The bride was resolute to keep her troth ; 
And so, preparing for the ceremony, 
Upon her bridal morning was found dead. 
'Tis proved again — that, while she lay in state, 
The guard, at several periods of the night, 
Did force the pris'ner from the chapel door; 
And when the corse was stol'n from sanctuary 
All search was vain, till, in the pris'ner's hands 
Was found the veil that shrouded her. To these 
And lighter proofs of sacrilege and murder 

12* 



138 TORTESA [ACT V. 

The prisoner has opposed his firm denial 

No more ! 

DUKE. 

Does no one speak in his behalf? 

TORTESA. 

My liege ! so far as turns the evidence 
Upon the prisoner's quarrels with myself, 
I'm free to say that they had such occasion 
As any day may rise 'twixt men of honor. 
As one of those aggriev'd by his offences. 
You'll wonder I'm a suitor for his pardon — 
But so I am ! Besides that there is room 
To hope him innocent, your Grace's realm 
Holds not so wondrous and so rare a painter ! 
If he has kill'd the lady Isabella, 
'Tis some amends that in his glorious picture 
She's made immortal ! If he stole her corse, 
He can return, for that disfigured dust, 
An Isabella fresh in changeless beauty ! 
Were it not well to pardon him, my Lord ? 

Isabella, (aside.) 
Oh brave Tortesa! 

duke. 
You have pleaded kindly 
And eloquently, Signor ! but the law 
Can recognize no gift as plea for pardon. 
For his rare picture he will have his fame ; 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 139 

But if the Isabella he has painted 
Find not a voice to tell his innocence, 
He dies at sunset! 

Isabella, (despairingly.) 
He is dead to me ! 
Yet he shall live ! 

(She drops the cowl from her shoulder s, and with her arms 
folded, walks slowly to the feet of the Duke.) 
falcone, (rushing forward.) 
My daughter! 
angelo, (with a gesture of agony.) 
Lost! 

TORTESA. 

Alive ! 
zippa, (energetically.) 
Tortesa '11 have her ! 

(Isabella retires to the back of the stage with her fa- 
ther, and kneels to him, imploring in dumb show ; 
the Duke and others watching. ) 
tortesa, (aside.) 

So ! all's right again ? 

Now for my lands, or Isabella ? Stay ! 

'Tis a brave girl, by Heaven ! 

(Reflects a moment.) 

A sleeping draught, 
And so to Angelo ! Her love for me 



140 TOETESA [ACT T. 

A counterfeit to take suspicion off ! 

It was well done ! I feel my heart warm to her ! 

{Reflects again.) 
Where could he hide her from our search to-day ? 

(Looks round at Isabella.) 
No ? Yet the dress is like ! It was the picture ! 
Herself— and not a picture ! Now, by Heaven, 
A girl like that should be the wife of Caesar ! 
(Presses his hand upon his heart.) 
I've a new feeling here ! 

(Falcone comes forward, folloived by Isabella with 
gestures of supplication.) 

FALCONE. 

I will not hear you ! 
My liege, I pray you keep the prisoner 
In durance till my daughter's fairly wed. 
He has contriv'd against our peace and honor, 
And howsoe'er this marvel be made clear, 
She stands betroth'd, if he is in the mind, 
To the brave Signor, yonder ! 

DUKE. 

This were well — 
What says Tortesa? 

TORTESA. 

If my liege permit, 
I will address my answer to this lady. 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 14 L 

( Turns to Isabella.) 
For reasons which I need not give you now, 
Fair Isabella ! I became your suitor. 
My motives were unworthy you and me — 
Yet I was true — I never said I lov'd you ! 
Your father sold you me for lands and money — 
(Pardon me, Duke ! And you, fair Isabella ! 
You will — ere I am done !) I push'd my suit ! 
The bridal day came on, and clos'd in mourning; 
For the fair bride it dawn'd upon was dead. 
I had my shame and losses to remember — 
But in my heart sat sorrow uppermost, 
And pity — for I thought your heart was broken. 
{Isabella begins to discover interest in his story, and 

Angelo watches her with jealous eagerness.) 
I see you here again ! You are my bride ! 
Your father holds me to my bargain for you ! 
The lights are burning on the nuptial altar — 
The bridal chamber and the feast, all ready ! 

What stays the marriage now ? my new-born love ! 

That nuptial feast were fruit from Paradise — 
I cannot touch it till you bid me welcome ! 

That nuptial chamber were the lap of Heaven 

I cannot enter till you call me in ! 

{Takes a ring from his bosom.) 
Here is the golden ring you should have worn. 
Tell me to give it to my rival there — 
I'll break my heart to do so ! (Holds it toward Angelo.) 



142 TORTESA [ACT V. 

Isabella, (looking at her father.) 
Would I might ! 

TORTESA. 

You shall, if't please you ! 

FALCONE. 

I command thee, never ! 
My liege, permit me to take home my daughter ! 
And, Signor, you — if you would keep your troth — 
To-morrow come, and end this halting bridal ! 
Home ! Isabella ! ( Takes his daughter's hand.) 

tortesa, (taking it from him.) 
Stay ! she is not your's ! 
My gracious liege, there is a law in Florence, 
That if a father, for no guilt or shame, 
Disown, and shut his door upon his daughter, 
She is the child of him who succors her; 
Who, by the shelter of a single night, 
Becomes endowed with the authority 
Lost by the other. Is't not so ? 

DUKE. 

So runs 
The law of Florence, and I see your drift — 
For, look my lord ! (to Falcone,) if that dread apparition 
You saw last night, was this your living daughter, 
You stand within the peril of that law. 

FALCONE. 

My liege ! 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 143 

Isabella, {looking admiringly at Tortesa.) 
Oh noble Signor ! 
tortesa, (to Isabella.) 

Was't well done ? 
Shall I give Angelo the ring 1 

(As she is about to take it from him, Tomaso steps in 
behind, and pulls Isabella by the sleeve.) 

TOMASO. 

Stay there ! 
What wilt thou do for dowry 1 I'm thy father ? 
But — save some flasks of wine — 

Isabella, (sorrowfully.) 

Would I were richer 
For thy sake, Angelo ! 

( Tortesa looks at her an instant, and then steps to the 
table and writes.) 

angelo, (coming forward with an effort.) 
Look, Isabella ! 
I stand between thee and a life of sunshine. 
Thou wert both rich and honor'd, bid for me I 
That thou couldst wed me, beggar as I am, 
Is bliss to think on — but see how I rob thee ! 
I have a loving heart — but am a beggar ! 
There is a loving heart — 

(Points to Tortesa.) 

With wealth and honor ! 



144 TORTESA t ACT V- 

( Tortesa steps between them, and hands a paper te 
Angelo.) 

tortesa, (to Isabella.) 
Say thou wilt wed the poorer? 
Isabella, (offers her hand to Angelo.) 

So I will! 

TORTESA. 

Then am I blest, for he's as rich as I — 
Yet, in his genius, has one jewel more ! 

ISABELLA. 

What sayst thou ? 

(Angelo reads earnestly.) 

TORTESA. 

In a mortal quarrel, lady ! 
5 Tis thought ill-luck to have the better sword ; 
For the good angels, who look sorrowing on, 
In heavenly pity take the weaker side ! 

ISABELLA. 

What is it, Angelo ? 

ANGELO. 

A deed to me 
Of the Falcone palaces and lands, 
And all the moneys forfeit by your father !— * 
By Heaven, I'll not be mock'd ! 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 145 

TORTESA. 

The deed is yours — 
What mockery in that ? 

Isabella, (tenderly to Tortesa.) 
It is not kind 
To make refusal of your love a pain ! 

TORTESA. 

I would 'twould kill you to refuse me, lady ! 
So should the blood plead for me at your heart ! 
Shall I give up the riDg 1 (offers it.) 

Isabella, (Jiesitatingly.) 

Let me look on it ! 
tortesa, (withdrawing it.) 
A moment yet ! You'll give it ere you think ! 
Oh is it fair that Angelo had days, 
To tell his love, and I have not one hour ? 
How know you that I cannot love as well ? 



'Tis possible ! 



My heart to him ! 



ISABELLA. 
TORTESA. 

Ah ! thanks ! 

ISABELLA. 

But I have given 
13 



146 TOETESA L ACT V * 

TORTESA. 

You gave your troth to me ! 
If, of these two gifts you must take back one, 
Rob not the poorer ! Shall I keep the ring 1 
(Isabella looks down.) 

ANGELO. 

She hesitates ! I've waited here too long ! 

( Tears the deed in two.) 
Perish your gift, and farewell Isabella ! 

Isabella, (advancing a step with clasped hands.) 
You'll kill me, Angelo ! Come back ! 

tortesa, (seizing him by the hand as he hesitates, 
and flinging him back with a strong effort.) 

He shall! 

ANGELO. 

Stand from my path ! Or, if you care to try 
Some other weapon than a glozing tongue, 
Follow me forth where we may find the room ! 

TORTESA. 

You shall not go. 

angelo, (draws.) 
Have at thee then ! 
(Attacks Tortesa, who disarms him, and holds his 
sword-point to his breast. Duke and others come 
forward.) 



SCENE III,] THE USURER. 147 

TORTESA. 

The bar 
'Twixt me and heaven, boy ! is the life I hold 
Now at my mercy ! Take it, Isabella ! 
And with it the poor gift he threw away ! 
I'll write a new deed ere you've time to marry, 
So take your troth back with your bridal ring, 
And thus I join you ! 

{Takes Isabella's hand, but Angelo refuses his.) 

angelo, (proudly.) 
Never ! But for me. 
The hand you hold were joyfully your own ! 
Shall I receive a life and fortune from you, 
Yet stand 'twixt you and that ? 

Isabella, {turning from Angelo.) 

Thou dost not love me ! 

TORTESA. 

Believe it not ! He does ! An instant more 
I'll brush this new-spun cobweb from his eyes. 

(Crosses to Zippa.) 
Fair Zippa! in this cross'd and tangled world 
Few wed the one they could have lov'd the best, 
And fewer still wed well for happiness ! 
We each have lost to-day what best we love. 
But as the drops that mingled in the sky, 
Are torn apart in the tempestuous sea, 
Yet with a new drop tremble into one, 



148 TORTESA [ACT V. 

We two, if you're content, may swim together ! 
What say you ? 

zippa, (giving her hand.') 
I have thought on it before, 
When I believed you cold and treacherous. 
Tis easy when I know you kind and noble. 

TORTESA. 

To-morrow then we'll wed; and now, fair Signor, 

(ToAngelo.) 
Take you her hand, nor fear to rob Tortesa ! 

( Turns to the Duke.) 
Shall it be so, my liege ? 

DUKE. 

You please me well. 
And if you'll join your marriage feasts together 
I'll play my part, and give the brides away ! 

TORTESA. 

Not so, my liege ! I could not see her wed him. 
To give her to him has been all I could ; 
For I have sought her with the dearest pulses 
That quicken in my heart, my love and scorn. 
She 's taught me that the high-born may be true. 
I thank her for it — but, too close on that 
Follow'd the love, whose lightning flash of honor 
Brightens, but straight is dark again ! My liege, 
The poor who leap up to the stars for duty 
Must drop to earth again ! and here, if t please you, 



SCENE III.] THE USURER. 149 

I take my feet forever from your palace, 
And, match'd as best beseems me, say farewell. 
( Takes Zippa's hand, and the curtain drops.) 



THE END. 



S. COLMAN, 
PUBLISHER AND BOOKSELL ER. 

8 ASTOR HOUSE, NEW-YORK. 



Colman's Dramatic Library. 

ATHENIA OF DAMASCUS. By Rufus Dawes. 

BIANCA VISCONTI, or, the Heart Overtasked. By 

N. P. Willis. 
TORTESA, or, the Usurer Mateh'd. By N. P. Willis. 
[Several others for the series in preparation.'] 

Notices. 
" This work is intended to embrace only productions of 
merit from American authors." — Weekly Messenger. 

" Mr. Colman has started a new idea, and we hope he 
will find support to carry it out — it is in the very best 
style. — Phil. Sat. Cour. 

" We cannot doubt this series will be highly success- 
ful." — Prov. Journal. 

BIANCA VISCONTI. 

" This play is published in the same beautiful style as 
" Athenia of Damascus," and will add to the reputation 
of Mr. Willis. — Prov. Journal. 

" The merit of this touching and beautiful tragedy is 
too widely known to require from us more than a passing 
notice of its publication." — Louisville News Letter. 

ATHENIA OF DAMASCUS. 

" A superior poem, and one of the handsomest books 
ever issued." — Phil. Sat. Courier. 

" A Drama of much interest." — Weekly Messenger. 

" Not only a beautiful poem, but a tasteful and strong 
tragedy."— AT. Y. Gaz. 

" Its incidents are stirring and full of interest ; its lan- 
guage chaste, nervous, and replete with poetry." — Port- 
land Transcript. 

Also. 
A L'ABRI, or, the Tent Pitch'd. By N. P. Willis. 

THE FAUaUIER SULPHUR SPRINGS. A 
small volume, intended as a guide to the invalid, and 



to those seeking a delightful residence for the summer 
months. 

PHANTASMION, PRINCE OF PALMLAND. 

From the London Edition, making vols. I. and II. of 

Colman's Library of Romance. Edited by Grenville 

Mellen. 

"Phantasmion is one of the most delightful and cap- 
tivating works in the English language, and is said to 
have been written by Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, daughter of 
the late S. T. Coleridge:' 

COLMAN'S MONTHLY MISCELLANY. 

An Original American Journal of Literature, as va- 
rious, spirited, and attractive as the literature of the 
country and the talents of some of its best writers can 
make it. 

No set plan is given, nor is it intended to have any ; 
the intention of the Editor is, that it shall be, emphati- 
cally, a National Journal ; containing nothing that 
can be called sectional, sectarian, or partisan, in any 
sense of these words. 

This work will be edited by Grenville Mellen and 
William Cutter, assisted by several of the most ta- 
lented writers of this country. The first Number is to be 
issued about the 1st of June next, and will contain about 
100 pages 8vo. 

Terms. — The price is Fifty Cents a Number, or Six 
Dollars a year ; but if paid in advance, Five Dollars 
only will be required. 

LETTERS OF JOHN SMITH, WITH PICTERS 
TO MATCH. 

Every body knows that the veritable Jack Downing 
has employed his cousin John Smith, of Smithville, 
Down East, to correspond with the New-York Mirror, 
about the Disputed Territory, and so on. Those letters, 
with " picters to match," are in press, and will soon be 
published, in the same style as Jack's own letters. Seba 
Smith, Esq., the author of both, has the richest ana" most 
Yankee dialect of any writer who has attempted to give 
the peculiarities of Jonathan. The wit is real, attic, 
and is something more than poor orthography — and the 
book will be worth putting beside the original letters of 
the original Jack Downing. 



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